


Time and Time Again

by strawberrykait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Mild Language, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-02
Updated: 2010-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykait/pseuds/strawberrykait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When given the chance to right his past wrongs, Draco Malfoy struggles to identify which wrongs can be made right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Time Again

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

"Out of here, quickly."

They were running for their lives - that much he understood implicitly. Every second he breathed was a second unexpected, undeserved.

The entire journey down from the Astronomy Tower Draco's mind replayed the final moments: Dumbledore offering him protection, Dumbledore's quiet ‘please', and the ghastly moment when he was propelled in a burst of green off the crenellated ramparts, down faster than they were currently sprinting, spiralling forever. In that moment, when Professor Snape uttered the words he couldn't, all Draco could think was, glad it wasn't me.

Subconsciously he knew how heartless that sounded, even to himself, but the emotion was true and fierce. He was glad it wasn't him - but whether he meant Snape or Dumbledore, even he wasn't certain.

Blindly, he followed his Head of House through the battle. He was aware enough to recognize some of his classmates through the haze of magic. The bodies at the foot of the stairs had multiplied in the short time he'd crossed this path earlier to threaten a defenceless old man who, with his dying breath, wanted to protect him.

An unfamiliar emotion flooded the sixteen year old. There was guilt, that he was accustomed to well enough, but something more; a coldness, deep in his belly, beyond the dread of what he had seen and what now lay before him. Distantly, he recognized it as shame.

Draco jerked abruptly when Snape pushed him back towards a side corridor as members of the Order of the Phoenix impeded their escape. There was a sound of thunder all around them, the walls crumbling under the wake of powerful wizards and witches, but Draco was too distracted. He could manage little more than passing his wand between either hand while the empty one wiped compulsively down the front of his robes. On either side his fellow Death Eaters sprang into action against the growing resistance. He tried once to peer around his protector, who viciously threw him back again, fully waking him to what he had let loose in Hogwarts.

Only seconds passed before he was roughly grabbed by the front of his robes and hauled forward. Automatically he marched down the ever-changing staircases, blind to everything but the next step. Snape regained the lead and Draco took small comfort in following. Briefly his eyes lifted to Snape's greasy hair, barely distinguishable against his billowing cape.

Draco balked.

He was a fugitive. He was an accessory to murder. Images of his own face snarling from a wanted poster appeared for a split second, but his rational mind quickly erased them. Worse than being hunted by every wizard and witch in the wizarding world and eventually rotting away in Azkaban was the reality that he was currently running towards the Dark Lord.

Now the fear engulfed him, choking what little oxygen he had been able to extract among the destruction and chaos. From behind him he could hear Alecto Carrow's nascent twittering as she left a path of devastation in her wake. She reminded him of his Aunt Bellatrix Lestrange - not physically, but both were definitely insane. Would he go mad, like her, under the tutelage of the Dark Lord? He knew he wouldn't last long enough to go mad. He had failed his mission. Every Malfoy would suffer death because of him. He had obliterated his family through cowardice.

Somehow they made it out of the castle and were running faster across the dewy grass, the unseasonably cold evening making each ragged breath harder to draw. At first he believed their destination to be the gates, but when they turned instead towards that oaf's hut and the Forbidden Forest, his heart clenched coldly. From behind came a blast of red light, barely missing Snape. Unconsciously accepting the risk, Draco turned back.

There was Harry Potter, loping down the hill, wand drawn. Snape bellowed for Draco to run, and he did, but only after watching Snape run back towards his nemesis. During that same instant, Potter screeched out to Snape as he fired his weapon.

Draco sneered hatefully. Precious Potter, headstrong and foolish! Always has to be the hero.

Potter and Snape faced off, the younger wizard appearing wilder and more ferocious than Draco had ever seen. Every attempt was thwarted, though, and Snape's mocking tone carried down the hill towards Draco. The brother and sister pair ran past the duellers, on towards the gates, while the last Death Eater with them set fire to the cabin. Immediately the area lit up, exposing them to the Order, who at last were emerging from the school. Draco stumbled while trotting backwards, fearful of all of his choices. Snape had Potter on the ground and was screaming, "Don't call me coward!"

From nowhere swooped down a hideous beast, a hippogriff, attacking Professor Snape. Draco crumbled to the ground, frozen. He turned away, numbly, to watch Hagrid fight off more Death Eaters. There was no escape.

Draco was no hero; he was the coward, a failure. Given a task other wizards, grown, experienced wizards, would have surely been killed attempting, the sixteen year old never had a chance. For the last nine months he had been consumed by his mission to destroy his Headmaster. The glory of success, to be counted as a favourite of the Dark Lord, was an accolade he could not pass up. But more and more Draco understood that he had never been expected to succeed.

Suddenly he was yanked up from the ground. His surprise at seeing Snape was great enough to encourage him to run again. Together they reached the Apparition point without further incident. Great pressure came from all sides, squeezing him tighter and expelling his breath at once. Saliva pooled in his mouth, a precursor to nausea. Draco closed his eyes against the Side-Along Apparition, focusing on the frantic pulses of blood pounding in his ears. He counted more than twenty before he felt solid ground beneath his feet once more.

It was cold - much colder than the school grounds of Hogwarts, but somehow lighter out. The air was scented heavily with salt and distantly he could hear the sea rolling in and out again. What he could not hear were his fellow villains. Risking a glance, he noted that no one other than Snape was with him, who was striding across the plain, just as deliberately as before. Draco followed.

From out of the mist appeared a white stone cottage with a thatched roof. Draco's step faltered at the unexpected sight, but quickly righted as Snape made his way around to the far side.

A moment later, Draco was hauled again by his cloak and shoved into the cottage, stumbling. In any other circumstance he would have immediately, and quite vocally, objected to such handling, even by an adult. Tonight, however, the offense barely registered.

It was cramped within despite a high ceiling. The sparse furniture looked ragged and worn in the dimness. A single candle across the room was lit where Professor Snape was rummaging.

Mutely curious, Draco refused to leave his current spot, yet his eyes followed the hidden movement of his protector. His mind travelled back to the occasions when Snape approached him, offering assistance. He blanched, acknowledging the underlying truth in Snape's motives. If only he had accepted.

Draco crouched, peering out the nearest window, expecting to see Potter marching across the plain, or Aurors. Or worse.

"Come here, Mister Malfoy," Snape urged.

Between his thumb and forefinger Snape held a dram, filled to the stopper almost. Despite being in shadows, Draco could see it well enough to discern the liquid within. Opaque and golden, it almost gave off a light of its own. He felt the first drop of sweat roll down the back of his neck. He couldn't move.

Professor Snape repeated himself and, at last, the student complied.

"Listen very carefully, Mister Malfoy, for within this vial I offer you salvation." Draco met Snape's beady eyes. "Or hell itself."

Screams rang out, much like those of a newly plucked mandrake, overwhelming the pair in the cottage. Desperate to drown it out, Draco clutched his ears, ineffectually. The candle flickered and sputtered out completely as Snape pushed the younger man back towards the darker remains of the house. He could make out nothing but his frantic tone above the wailing. Into Draco's hand was pressed the vial. He glared down at it as Snape jerked his chin upwards.

"You have the opportunity to correct your mistake, Draco. Drink it ... and remember."

"What? What do you mean - remember what exactly? I'm not drinking that - are you mad?" He sneered at the man and the vial in turn. "What is that?" Draco jerked out of Snape's grasp, stumbling further backwards and landing splayed on the floor. As derelict as the cottage appeared, surprisingly little dust rose up to meet him. The vial rolled away, unbroken. Snape pursued. The mandrake wards continued to screech, but voices, rather familiar ones, bellowed through, growing louder. The Death Eaters had followed them.

"There is no time for argument, you stupid boy. Your choices are simple enough: Face the Dark Lord and your death for failure, or drink this and repair the damage." Draco knew they had somehow betrayed the Dark Lord by even being here, wherever here was. Death was imminent. Sixteen years led only to fear, death, and guilt. His distress must have been apparent because Snape shook him by the shoulders, reclaiming his attention.

"Do you understand what I've told you?" He had heard nothing besides the howling alarm and the approaching men. Intrinsically he believed nothing could save him and listening to whatever a mad man had to whisper would accomplish nothing. Snape seethed. "Tell no one, Draco, for you'll only jeopardize everything of any val-"

The front cottage window burst inwards, a glittering cascade of glass bringing with it the icy sea wind and the cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange. How had they found them so quickly? If she was here, then he knew as well, and what had happened. Another bead of sweat rolled down beneath Draco's cloak.

He felt the vial pressed against his mouth, Snape's hooked nose closer than was comfortable, his black eyes determined. "Think back..."

Draco swallowed the thick potion just as a brilliant green light suffused the cottage...

***

  
Flashes of yellow and pain bloomed before him. Snape's eyes coming into focus, a whirlwind of glitter forming a window once more. Excruciating pain coursed through him, beginning from his head and journeying through the blood to every tip end, thrumming. Worse than the Apparition, the nausea was stronger than before while the night passed once more before his troubled eyes. The green light was extinguished as though it never existed. All of a sudden, he was crossing the lawn of Hogwarts, heading back towards the castle, to the bodies and death he invited. That insufferable half-breed's cabin extinguished itself, returning to how it had been all of his life, rather than the burning mass he'd last seen.

Draco clamped his eyes shut, the sickness overbearing. He wrapped both arms about his stomach, noting that he still grasped the vial in one. Despite the reverse motion he obviously was taking, there was no wind, no oxygen. His hot pants of breath only made it worse, until desperately he pried his eyes open again, hoping the world had stopped.

Again his vision warped. Dumbledore returned to the Astronomy Tower, a crouched, weak old man, but alive once more. "Draco, you're not a killer..."

He was sick then, surrendering to the motions and accepting. He was dead, must be. This was the Hell Snape spoke of; no less than he deserved, but far more wretched than expected. Snape's potion pulsed through his bloodstream, his blood rushing the wickedness through him endlessly. It was all too much. Absently, he wished Potter had killed him weeks ago in the bathroom. He would still have died a failure, but at least he wouldn't have lived long enough to see the horrors of this night.

Just when he accepted that the pain would never cease, his body found solidity.

Trembling, thrumming less now, Draco felt the chilled air against his sweaty face. Flat on his back, fingers grasping a scratchy sheet, he found himself not in Snape's cottage, or even on the parapet, but rather in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. His heart seemed to stop. Frightened, his hand seized his chest and felt bandages wrapped around his torso. Each pant pulled at the skin beneath, until he remembered. Hospital wing... Potter tried to kill me. It hasn't happened then; none of it was real. Draco actually whooped with joy until the pain cut his jubilation short.

Madam Pompfrey scurried out from her office, apparently concerned at his outburst. Gently she pushed him back down against his single pillow with her left hand while her right passed her wand around his torso. She noted aloud that he was clammy and distraught, but otherwise no worse than he had been an hour before, when he'd been sleeping. Finding nothing beyond his eruption amiss, she frowned remonstratively before returning to her quarters.

Draco couldn't help but smile settling back into his cot. None of it had been real. There were no Death Eaters breaking through to snatch him up; no bodies strewn across the corridor, spilt blood slicking the stone. He did not kill Albus Dumbledore. "Draco, you're not a killer..."

All that he had seen was nothing more than nightmares brought on by the stress of his mission. A mission he had yet to complete.

Considering this line of thought better suited for the morning, Draco curled onto his side, his right hand rising towards the pillow. It was not empty, however. Scowling into his palm he found the vial.  
There was no denying any of it. It was real. Dumbledore was dead and he was the culprit. Even though at that moment he watched the old fool as he spoke with Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Madam Pomfrey just out of earshot about his condition. He had seen this before, been here before. His first instinct was to deny everything, hide from it all, but that was impossible, really. Draco was of two minds: one thought he should call out for his Head of House to demand an explanation. The other, fainter mind recalled Snape's instructions to not tell anyone. What the consequences would be, he wondered. If the potion truly reversed time and brought him back to this moment, would telling someone, even the very man who gave it to him, subvert the order of the universe that much? Hadn't it already done so? What further harm could it cause?

They would think him mad. Granted, they might chalk it up to shock over nearly dying, but they would find the vial. If Snape had created it himself, he could possibly vouch for Draco. But what if he hadn't? What if, at this particular point in time, Professor Snape was not in possession of the potion? If Snape did not create it himself, Draco doubted he would escape the accusations. It was obviously dark magic. Draco was already suspected for the crimes against both Katie Bell and Ron Weasley; this would be enough to possibly even send him to Azkaban, to rot along with his father indefinitely. At least in prison I would be free of this destined-to fail mission.

What if they chose St. Mungo's instead?

Other than his memories and the vial he now hid beneath his backside, Draco had no solid evidence that what happened last night was real. He very well could be insane - why clue them in? No, his self preservation was stronger than that, so instead he feigned sleep and tried to decipher what he could of their conversation.

***

  
Three terribly long, terribly lonely days later, Draco was released from hospital, bringing his stay to a total of ten days. None of his housemates had visited him, which hurt more than he was willing to admit. He expected to be summoned by Professor Snape, who had attempted to speak with him once when he pretended to sleep. Draco chose to ignore the summons if, when the time came. While he was laid up Draco chose to accept this do-over as the gift it truly was. He would listen to Future Snape, as he distinguished him mentally, and correct his mistake. Finishing the Vanishing cabinet, allowing the Death Eaters into Hogwarts - that is what ruined his life. Snape saved him by killing the old man in his stead, so obviously he meant for Draco to have never let them in. This would change history, most assuredly.

Draco repeated this mantra to himself endlessly and aloud whenever he was alone and the doubt returned. Which was fairly often, it seemed. Through the course of the year his friends had seemingly abandoned him, but he knew it was his own doing. It was the mission, his duty to the Dark Lord that alienated him from everyone, even his two mindless minions, Crabbe and Goyle. Of course, his standoffish behaviour, his moodiness throughout the year, hadn't helped much. Hopefully there would be time to make amends before the year was out, now that he had a chance to live to see it.

The drudgery of class assignments was surprisingly refreshing. Losing the weight of obeying You-Know-Who was such a relief that writing eighteen inches on the uses of knotgrass was almost fun. It was when he was outside of class or done with assignments that Draco found to be the worst. His mind unfailingly returned to the past-future and the present-past, thinking himself into circles as he tried to wrap his head around it all. It made no sense whatsoever. He did as Professor Snape demanded, he came back and did not complete the Vanishing cabinet; the mistake was corrected! Wasn't it?

Sulking, Draco slowly slipped through the hidden stone doorway into the Slytherin common room, which was crowded with mostly fifth and seventh years studying for exams. Hurtling up from the dormitory staircase came Pansy Parkinson, her head ducked down and looking a mess. Draco's spirits lifted.

"Hey, Pansy, hold up!"

She hurried on, only glancing briefly at him before shoving her way out the door. The fleeting glimpse he caught of her was disturbing. Her usually fashionable appearance had given way to a harried look, but what was stranger still were the books she clasped tightly to her chest. Pansy doesn't read. She also, apparently, couldn't spare time for her old boyfriend, either. The bitterness was unpleasant but familiar.

There was nothing to do now, nothing but study. He was unwelcome in the common room, just as he remembered. Before, he would spend his time either in his dormitory or in the Room of Hidden Things, stressing over that damned Vanishing cabinet. Other days he spent looking over the ramparts of the Astronomy Tower, estimating the distance from there and the grounds below. That was not a place he dared visit again, so often he spent his time in the library.

If this truly was a dream, Draco would have expected a warmer welcome from his supposed friends, especially after nearly dying. At least from Pansy, or Blaise Zabini; they were his friends, weren't they? If it was an actual do-over, well then he really wasn't surprised. Why couldn't there have been at least a drop or two of Felix Felicis in that potion Snape gave him?

A thought came to him. He needed the library.

***

  
Three hours and multiple dirty looks from a group of Ravenclaws and as well as Madam Pince later, Draco was no further deciphering the potion. Nothing matched up. He'd spent the first hour or so in an empty Potions lab with no success. He doubted he would see Professor Slughorn there, but he had held hope of possibly finding Snape. Even though he had resolved to not bring attention to his predicament, Draco was very curious about his current existence. And growing a bit desperate.

Exasperated, Draco tossed the last compendium aside with disgust. What a completely useless library! Not a damn shred of similarity, in any of them! His slate eyes cut across the stacks. It was too crowded to sneak into the Restricted Section; far too many witnesses. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that his Head of House would gladly have given permission to access that collection, if he hadn't been avoiding him, he conceded. But that wasn't an option. His mind reeled whenever he tried to understand Snape. His entire career at Hogwarts, and even some before, Draco would have sworn that Severus Snape was a loyal servant to the Dark Lord, and that teaching at Hogwarts had only been a venue for his skills after his downfall. Until that night on the Astronomy Tower, that is.

As the days passed with more frustration and no success, Draco reconsidered seeking out Snape. If he knew about the mission, and possibly even what was happening to Draco now, Snape would be the only person who could possibly help him. Draco squashed these notions every time they popped up. Really, it was just an idle curiosity, nothing more; the potion meant nothing to him and he had survived the ordeal, full stop. Researching it now was just another distraction from his daily life. As much as he tried, Draco never could fully convince himself of this, which is why he continued to sit in the library on a Friday night.

For not the first time, Draco marvelled at the number of students who were also beginning their weekend here of all places. And not all of them were swots, either. He'd seen Daphne Greengrass and Simon Dedworth off down a row earlier making googly eyes at one another and even caught a glimpse of Pansy for a moment.

Draco sighed.

She was avoiding him as well as he avoided Snape. Not that he blamed her; after all, he generally treated her badly, abusing her friendship and affections. Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something was off about her. Even when they'd been bogged down with O.W.L.s the year before, in addition to their Prefect and Inquisitorial Squad duties, she'd managed to find time to spend with him. Sometimes even all night, but apparently no more.

Loneliness did not agree with Draco. He felt maudlin and surly - well, surlier than usual. He'd make it up to Pansy. This was his do-over, after all.

Giving up for the evening, Draco pocketed his wand and wadded up the unused parchment, chunking it over his shoulder before rising. Seconds later, it was returned to his table. Puzzled, he turned about. Almost directly behind him was none other than Hermione Granger, the queen of the swots. It was no surprise to find her here any and every night of the week. He imagined her idea of a fun night involved discussing cataloguing methods with Pince.

Even though her quill was dashing away while her eyes focused down on some mouldy book, he was certain she had thrown the parchment back at him. He paused, glaring, waiting for her to raise her head. He needed to release his frustration; telling the Mudblood off would do nicely. But she was too engrossed to acknowledge him. Or so he thought.

"What is it, ferret?" Hermione muttered without looking up, turning a page. "I know the concept of studying must be foreign to you, but surely your pureblooded mother taught you not to stare." Her quill paused as she cut her eyes around Draco. "Or litter."

Everything comes so easy for the Mudblood, he seethed. Not a care in her fuzzy-haired brain beyond getting perfect grades in all her classes. Being friends with Potter, coming out the hero every damn time.

"Shouldn't you be mollycoddling your wittle boys, Granger? Or have they finally abandoned you as a complete nuisance?"

"It's none of your business where my friends are or even with whom I associate, Malfoy. I'll thank you to keep your trash to yourself."

He smirked. The Dark Lord will purify the world of the likes of her. No more know-it-alls polluting the bloodlines. He imagined her screams while being tortured, then switched to her grovelling at his feet. He stood metres above her, sneering down at her tattered robes, her hair having been ripped from the scalp, appearing in patches here and there. He held her wand between both hands and snapped it in half, followed by her silent howl of shame.

Sometime during his fantasy she had turned back towards her studies as though he weren't there. Draco glared at Hermione's dismissal before wordlessly casting an Incendio to the parchment.

"One day, Granger, you're going to crash off your high-flying broom, and I'll be there, laughing as you lay dying."

She looked up quickly, appalled. Draco merely smirked before walking away. His delight was short-lived as he seethed to himself. "Everyone would be better off if she had never existed," he drawled as he stalked out of the library.

Trudging back to the dungeons, Draco scowled at younger students who dared to laugh and enjoy themselves. Didn't the brats realize war was approaching? Couldn't they at least have the decency to keep such annoyances within their own houses, rather than lining the corridors with asinine amusement? His foul mood was a culmination of every rotten thing that had happened to him - every slight from a fellow or sometimes even lower schoolmate, every inch of homework assigned. But mostly it derived from his apparent inability to figure out what was happening.

If this was his chance to correct his mistake, shouldn't he be happy? Shouldn't he be surrounded by friends, partying, carefree as they were, rather than living with the sword of Damocles suspended above him?

He had to speak to Professor Snape, whether the world ended or not, trust him or not.

Suddenly Draco's arm burst into flames, itching and sizzling his skin and muscles. A scream escaped before he could control himself. The Dark Mark...

Scurrying into an empty classroom, Draco struggled out of his robes and unbuttoned his cuff to reveal his left arm. The snake was writhing under his skin, through the ghastly skull. It was the Dark Lord's warning, a not-so-gentle reminder to get on with it. Sweat began to bead along his hairline. Draco was unaware he was moaning in pain still, let alone that he could be heard out in the corridor, so when someone spoke his name he couldn't help but jump.

Hermione Granger stood wide-eyed before him, her concern turned to shock at his look. When her gaze broke from his face, Draco quickly hid his left arm from view. She harrumphed. A look of guilt flashed on her face and she softened.

"Are ...are you all right?"

The hesitancy in her voice was to be expected, but the worry was a surprise. Draco was amazed briefly by it, the astonishing attitude change. His traitorous mind sprang up a scene in which he confessed it all to her, unburdening himself of the too-great responsibility. Mudblood though she may be, Granger was bright. Give her an hour with the potion, surely she could determine the ingredients and, better yet, possibly explain what was going on.

Draco shook ridiculous thought away. A condescending sneer fell into place. But it was ineffectual, judging by the way the nosey Gryffindor continued to stare at him.

Her expression did not reciprocate his, but seemed to become even more sincere, if possible. "Malfoy...?" She tentatively approached, her brown eyes searching between his face and his hunched body.

"Get away from me, you filthy Mudblood!"

Granger's eyes narrowed hatefully. She released a huff and shook her head, storming off before he could insult her further. Trembling, Draco squeezed his forearm. He would not - could not - answer the call. Instead he lowered his sleeve and continued on to his dorm.

  


***

  
Days passed without success. His grades weren't drastically improving, nor were his relationships with his housemates. Blaise Zabini outright shunned him at breakfast the one morning, giving him a tempestuous glare. He hadn't seen Pansy in nearly a week. A sly visit to the hospital wing came up pointless. She just vanished, it seemed.

Along with Pansy, Professor Snape had also disappeared. Professor Slughorn took on Snape's courses, and spent every lesson in both classes practically imploring Potter to perform miracles in the cauldron during their next Potions lesson. Draco had heard a rumour before, in the past-present, that Potter had been caught using a forbidden text book. If they had been in reverse positions, Draco felt certain he'd have been expelled for such a feat. And for the last two days, his arm thrummed in warning. He knew he must be angry, but what could he do?

Draco sighed. Without Snape, he had no way to unlock the mystery of the potion, which he kept hidden in his trunk. Out of sight, out of mind. Several times he recalled Dumbledore's final offer. Personally he considered the Headmaster nothing more than a ludicrous old fool with a soft spot for society's dredges - nothing worth killing a man for, though. He said he could help him, hide him and his mother. Here at Hogwarts he was safe, for now. But she wasn't.

Fear gripped him as he dashed up the stairs. How could he have not thought about her all this time? When had he last received an owl? Desperately he tried to recall and toppled over someone as he made the corner. Without thought, he scrambled up and swore.

"Malfoy?"

He groaned. That's all he needed - Granger impeding him further. "Watch where you're going, you stupid --"

"Hermione!"

Could the night get any worse? Draco rolled his eyes as he turned to face Ron Weasley, red-faced and frowning with concern. Bending practically in half, the ginger hefted the fallen girl beneath her arms, bringing her up almost into Draco's chin. He eyed them both malevolently. Weasley's blue eyes narrowed in return, his mouth twisting into a sneer to rival his own.

"Out of my way," demanded Draco as he stepped forward, only to be halted by a wand to the neck.

"Ron, no!" Hermione yanked on Ron's arm fruitlessly. For an instant, Draco was actually afraid.

"We ought to Stupefy him, Hermione! I know he's in on it, the twitchy bastard." The pair struggled a bit and Draco stood stock-still. He eyed past them, towards the next flight of stairs. He had to get to the owlery.

A zing of red barely missed his head as Weasley's wand went off. Wasting no time, Draco ran for it, ducking while reaching for his wand. He was too late. One second he was mere feet from the staircase, the next his body stiffened without his consent and down he toppled.

Prone on the marble floor, he could hear Granger berating her boyfriend. "We've got to find the others, Ron! There's not time for picking fights!"

"He knocked you to the ground, Hermione! He's one of ‘em! The bloody bastard likely helped them get in the castle."

Draco's blood chilled.

"We can't very well leave him on the floor! At least move him out of the pathway," Hermione tried to reason. Draco's mind reeled with anxiety. It can't be today, it just can't. There was no time. His thoughts were so consuming he failed to hear someone run up from behind him. "Finite!"

Regaining the use of his arms and legs went unnoticed as he fumbled to stand. Beside him was Hermione, abandoned. His head comically snapped between where they had been, where she was now, and the stairs before him.

"Be careful, Malfoy," she said quietly. "You may be a prat, but you're still a person."

His gazed steadied on her, noting the sincerity in her face. Something tugged in his chest - fear, he decided. Fear for his mother, for the loss of control, for his own sake. Definitely just fear.

He swallowed, nodded quickly, and then ran across to the other stairs.

The further he climbed through the levels of Hogwarts, the more he noticed the evident danger. The corridors normally crowded with students of every age and house, chit-chatting and gallivanting about, were absent and a sense of dread pressed down. Now and again he caught a glimpse of someone running at the far end, and as he continued at top speed he, at last, heard a commotion.

Instinct told him to forego the Room of Hidden Things - he could demand of it a place to hide, certainly, or possibly even a way to escape, but he had to disprove his fear. The past could not be repeating itself - he had changed it by not completing the Vanishing cabinet, hadn't he? It had to be something else. Seeing the Astronomy Tower empty would be proof enough.

Zooming around a dark corner, Draco's feet fell out from under him. There, not ten metres ahead, were dozen or so cloaked figures charging the hallway. His heart stopped for what felt like eternity. Darkness edged his vision as the Death Eaters ravaged their way through the halls, casting hexes at the unfortunate students who failed to run fast enough. Two students, separately, attempted to retaliate. To Draco's utter surprise one was Neville Longbottom, the Gryffindor fool. A tall blond Death Eater stayed after the others to give chase as the second unknown student defended Longbottom.

Wishing he had that Peruvian powder from Weasley's Wheezes, he lurked his way through the shadows, blood pounding so loudly that he doubted they could not hear his approach. The Dark Mark on his forearm throbbed. He had to make it to the stairs, where they curved upwards into darkness. Not for the first time he wished none of this was his burden.

Breaking through his panic, he recalled a shortcut back the way he'd come. Stealthily he crept backwards, trying to not breathe lest he be detected. At last he made it and broke into a full-on run. This wasn't supposed to happen this way - wasn't supposed to happen at all! That was why he'd been sent back, to prevent it. Where had he failed?

Draco ran madly through the corridors, ducking spells cast by both Death Eaters and Potter's friends. The shortcut behind the drapery was exposed, the curtain hanging in shreds. Seconds turned into minutes until finally he burst through two floors up. He barely escaped a nasty curse aimed his way by that Looney Lovegood as he managed to crawl over a fallen body at the foot of the spiral staircase. Just like before...

Taking the stairs two and three at a time, tripping twice, he at last made it to the top of the Astronomy Tower. It was a nightmare come true. Hidden in the shadow of the half-closed door, he saw Dumbledore, weakened, speaking quietly to the Death Eaters surrounding him. Just like before. Draco knew what was coming, even though he refused to believe it. The words were spat across to the frail old man with as much force as if the witch were physically pushing him off. It was not the voice of Professor Snape uttering the killing curse, but Pansy Parkinson.

The Death Eaters crowed, effectively disguising Draco's cry of anguish and disbelief. A hand reached out from behind him, clasping tightly to his robes. Professor Snape was there, too late to save Pansy as he had once saved Draco. He cried out again.

Something was wrong. Snape clutched him painfully, stooped over to nearly Draco's waist, gasping. Blood began to gush out of his nose, and when he coughed, it spewed across both their robes. His bleak eyes peered up at the younger man, wide and full, as though struggling to convey some important message. Frightened by the blood more than what he had just witnessed again, Draco panicked, calling for help.

Only one of the five standing out on the ramparts turned towards the noise. Fenrir Greyback. In the same moment, seemingly from out of nowhere, Harry Potter materialized, and began shouting hexes at them all. Draco witnessed Potter disarming two Death Eaters before Professor Snape collapsed to his feet, pulling Draco down with him.

There was a scramble to get over the fallen pair, spells hurtling all around. Draco saw nothing clearly, buried beneath his deceased Head of House. He struggled with the dead weight, when suddenly it was lifted, revealing the yellow grin of the werewolf, leering down at him. Time slowed down.

"Flipendo!"

It was Potter who saved him... it was always Potter, the hero. Draco was certain the Boy Who Lived failed to see him beneath Greyback, or else he surely would have cursed him, too. Instead, Potter jumped over the two prone bodies, headed after the fleeing villains. Pansy was still out there, immobilized. Shakily he countered the spell and caught her as she collapsed. Her sobs were near hysterical.

"I had to, Draco, I had to," she wailed against him. "Potter nearly killed you ... I had to do it..."

"What did you do, Pansy, tell me!"

She sputtered and choked on her tears, keening out. "You never trusted me, Draco. I tried to help you, tried to love you, and when I saw you in the hospital wing, you refused to tell me what you'd been working on so hard." Pansy pulled back from him, swiping her running nose across her robe sleeve. "So I asked the boys, and they told me enough... I finished it, the cabinet," she said, calming considerably. Her dark eyes became glassy, a faraway expression replacing her hysteria.

"They," her chin jutted towards the open door, "asked after you, but I didn't know where you were, so they brought me here; told me I had to," Pansy swallowed a quiet sob. "Said he would kill you. So I did it." Silent tears ran down her cheeks, one after the other, as she confessed. "I did it for you, Draco."

Trembling, Draco rose, eyes wide and staring at Pansy. She began to rock herself, gazing off into the cloudy night. The green light from the Dark Mark tinged her skin a sickly shade. He couldn't look at her. He'd failed her, too. The Dark Lord called to Draco with malice. Between Draco and the battle below lay his dead professor. Grief and shock overwhelmed him as he attempted to revive Snape. Pansy continued to rock behind him, fiddling with her wand now and again, sniffling. It didn't take a healer to know she had lost her mind. There was no time to help her.

Draco blinked.

He had all the time in the world to fix this. Frantically, he rushed back down the spiral staircase, tripping and tumbling most of the way. The closer he reached the ensuing battle below, the louder the ruckus grew. But still he had to go back, all the way down into the dungeons, to his dormitory. His footing was lost past the bottom of the staircase. Draco's wand flew out of his hand as he attempted to break his fall. Somewhere in the darkness he heard it land, hopefully far enough from the combat that it wouldn't be stepped on. A sharp pain zoomed through his shoulder as he sat up. His eyes watered dangerously.

"Accio wand!"

Directly his hawthorn wand returned to him and he cast a quick pain relief charm on himself, all the while scanning the skirmish for potential attackers. When the fray seemed as thin as possible, he bolted forward, head hunched down into his shoulders. He had to reach the vial before he was killed or everything would be for naught. This was so much easier to navigate last time, he bitterly thought, barely dodging curses cast from Merlin only knew which side. He regretted the thought instantly, remembering Snape's exsanguinated body atop the Astronomy Tower. Two men who tried to protect him, dead at either end of the tower, all because of him.

Draco put on extra speed, making his way down the main stairwell. He hesitated. Shouldn't there be a guard down here, for either side? With trepidation, Draco began down. The churning and grinding of the moving stairs made it quite difficult to listen for, well, whatever sound could come next. He swiped at his face and dried his sweaty hand against his robes. The Dark Mark throbbed hotly on the down swing and Draco hissed and cringed. Each moment wasted in caution stole another from salvation. He ran for it.

The ease with which he made it to the Slytherin dungeons worried him, but nevertheless he felt relieved. Down and further down to his dormitory he went. From up above an explosion rocked the passage. Terrified, he glanced up, seeing nothing of course, but imagining the castle walls collapsing down, trapping him in this crypt, never to be rescued.

At last he reached his destination, flung open his trunk, and desperately sought the vial. Nothing - it was gone. It can't be gone! Where could the damned thing be? Draco reached for his wand and Accio'd the potion. From beneath his four-poster bed it flew. Joyful relief burst from his chest. Trembling, he uncorked the potion. At that precise moment, the Dark Mark erupted. The vial slipped in his right hand. The pain was unbearable, his entire body violently shaking from his forearm out. The Dark Lord wanted him dead. Could he kill Draco from afar?

What if he wasn't that far away?

The Dark Mark had progressively gotten worse all night. What if that meant he was here, now, in Hogwarts? Dumbledore gone, Snape gone - no one to stop him but Potter, and he could be dead already. The Dark Lord killed them all. Perhaps even his parents. All Draco had to do was press the tip of his wand into the Mark and he would know. He would be killed, assuredly. When he was dead he wouldn't have to hurt anymore, wouldn't be afraid anymore. Everything that meant anything had already been taken from him. The temptation was great...

It's the coward's way.

Draco sobered, gulping in quick breaths. They didn't have to die, none of them. Pansy didn't have to suffer for his mistakes. There was still time to fix everything. He swallowed the sickly potion greedily then jabbed the stopper back. Pocketing the vial, Draco tucked his wand beneath his left arm then clutched the Mark, willing the agony to cease. If the potion was nothing more than a calming draught... if the Dark Lord was barrelling down upon him this very moment...if Snape could be trusted...

Everything would end no matter the truth. Draco gave into the pain.  
Vertigo overtook Draco, spinning back the hours, the days, in a myriad of confusion: Pansy's tears, the frustration in the library, the ostracism, all in a scatty, electrifying cacophony of nausea. He collapsed backwards, spreading his limbs akimbo, just before lurching to his side. Beneath his brow he felt cool stone floor and begged it to reach every inch of skin. Slowly his sweat began to cool him down and he rolled over, eyes still squeezed shut, willing it all away.

The air was cool but not crisp, and minty. Like home. Upon opening his grey eyes, that was where he found himself - in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. Unbelievingly he looked about. His home was real and familiar and a great comfort at the moment. Draco's wand had rolled across a carpet some small distance and as he stretched to retrieve it he was shocked.

The Dark Mark was missing.

Almost panicking, almost giddy, Draco fumbled to his feet, marvelling at the beauty of a bare arm. He spun around, searching for any indication of when he was.

"There you are, darling. Hurry along upstairs to change, we're expected," said Narcissa Malfoy as she appeared from the formal sitting room. He must have looked positively frightful, judging by the astonished once-over she gave. Draco couldn't help but embrace his mother, quite strongly. Taken aback by this unusual display of affection, she froze. After a moment, her hand patted his back soothingly and made to step back, but he wouldn't let her. This time she hugged him back.

"I know, darling. I miss him, too."

It was all Draco needed. His father was imprisoned and they were being summoned before the Dark Lord to receive his commission and Mark. This was his opportunity to turn everything around.

"Mother," he began hastily, too hastily, he realized, noting her startled expression. He tried again in a more nonchalant manner. "Mother, come with me first. There is someone we need to see before...that other engagement."

Narcissa's quiet laughter dismissed the idea and she turned back towards the sitting room. Draco ran after her, grabbed her elbow and spun her back to face him. "Please," was all he said. She stared back at him, her eyes searching his for any shred of humour, but he knew she'd find none. He tried to convey with just a look the urgency of his request.

He failed.

With a stern expression she repeated her instructions and turned once again. Draco understood in that moment that he'd likely never see his mother again. As hard as that was to accept, he silently said goodbye, then ran up to his bedroom suite. He would need supplies and there was no time to linger. Using his wand, Draco Accio'd two sets of clothing, one Wizarding, the other as Muggle as he dared own, what money he had stashed away, as well as a few other practical items. Time was ticking away faster than he liked and Narcissa would send a house-elf after him if he didn't return soon. In his mind he replayed this scene as it had originally occurred: He had escorted his mother to a secluded, dishevelled house by Portkey. Almost immediately he was brought before the Dark Lord, who informed them both that Draco was his chosen one who would perform the greatest service. The Dark Lord withdrew his wand as Draco knelt, feeling honoured as well as frightened, and administered his Mark. Searing pain was tremendous and it continued to throb for days later.

The Dark Lord informed those present that they must tell no one of his mission.

Draco knew that this was his purpose, to avert everything that had happened to him, to Pansy, to Professor Snape. And to Dumbledore. He had to leave, never to return.

***

  
Thirty-two hours later found the young man pacing frantically before a dingy curtained window. He had gone first to the Leaky Cauldron and demanded a room, which was given in short order, naturally. But the way the staff eyed him... he knew he wasn't safe. He left shortly after making a show of entering his room.

Several hours were spent skulking around Diagon Alley, avoiding Knockturn but desperate for invisibility. Impossible. There was nowhere he could go and not be recognized. He had no refuge. At one turn Draco distracted himself idly shelf reading in Flourish and Blotts until he heard the voice of Theodore Nott close by. Fearing the worst, he slithered towards the back of the shop, searching for an exit. Thrilled nearly to death when he found it, he then transfigured his robes the best he could and managed a disguise of sorts. He had to get off the Alley. At the Witch's Bower, a less reputable inn down away from the popular shops but not quite in Knockturn Alley, he let a room for the night. Upon a cursory glance, it was rather revolting, but any shelter was better than none.

Nearly constantly since leaving home Draco pondered what to do next. He couldn't survive alone - he'd been damned lucky so far and it wouldn't last. His choices were limited. Accepting the only plausible option, Draco owled Professor Snape. He was not so foolish as to offer full disclosure, but hoped it was enough to convey the urgency and seriousness of his position without his Head of House deciding he was nutters. What if Snape really was the enemy?

Draco shook his head and slowed his pace. Thoughts like that couldn't be avoided, nor answered. He could betray me... but to whom?

Every hour that ticked past with no reply from the Potions master was another closer to his demise, he felt. There was no defence to be had against the Dark Lord. He knew his death would be drawn out, excruciating. What he didn't know was how much he had discovered in those same thirty-two hours. He feared the worst.

A quick rap at the window startled him. He rushed back towards the curtains, hesitated for a brief second, then slowly peeked out. A barn owl perched on the ledge swivelled her head back his way, a scrap of parchment clutched in one talon. Between her beak was blue feather.

"You look vile enough to take out a Blue Jay," he muttered to the bird while removing the paper. She didn't fly off, so he retreated into his room with a modicum of hope. The message read:

Take the feather

5:09

S

  
He turned the scrap over twice. "That's all he has to say?"

The owl made an impatient sound. Hurriedly he returned to beg the feather from her beak with a crumb of bread. With a baleful look she accepted, releasing the treasure for trash. Fear gripped Draco again, an all too familiar feeling these days. Just where would this Portkey take him - to death or salvation? According to the clock, he had about an hour until he knew for sure.

The urge to run away had all but controlled him as he waited and watched, his wand drawn in his right hand while the left held the blue feather between only two fingers. If he had been asked, he would have replied that he didn't know what to make of Snape, friend or foe, but he had to trust someone. Seconds later the Portkey activated.

***

  
He felt the grass before he saw it, too afraid to face whatever he was falling directly into. Next he smelled the briny sea air. Slowly his eyes parted, revealing the sun as it crested on the water. It was terribly cold and he wished he'd thought to wear his jumper. Draco's head pivoted, noting the absence of inhabitants along this plain. Distantly he spotted a white cottage with a thatched roof. He'd been here before.

Quickly Draco traipsed down the slight slope towards the white cottage, glancing about, expecting an ambush any moment. When he reached the door without incident, he paused. A shiver rand down his spine, chilling his heart with dread. How badly would this time turn out?

"Mister Malfoy," greeted him when he passed through the door. Across the room stood Professor Snape, in all his sinister grandeur, peering down his crooked nose at Draco. The younger man had no idea still what lay ahead, unable to read the look upon the professor's face. Excepting the present circumstances, Professor Snape looked the same as when teaching - giving a false sense of normalcy, security even. But this was definitely not the classroom anymore. Draco's heart beat against his ribs like a hammer. He swallowed his fear and advanced.

"Sir," Draco returned, expectantly. The pair stared off for only a moment until Draco lowered his gaze in deference.

"As I am sure you are aware," Snape began, circling the pupil. "Your failure to appear before the Dark Lord created ...a disruption. You can imagine his reaction, as well as those of his company - especially your mother." Draco's eyes snapped up. After a pause and a turn, Snape continued.

"Naturally, the Dark Lord asked after you, and she could not account for your absence. This did not go over well, needless to say."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. When he wasn't worried about himself, Draco had worried about his mother, and it seemed those fears were definitely warranted. He'd been plagued by visions of her corpse lying prone in that dilapidated hovel, or in the sitting room of Malfoy Manor: skin bloodless-blue, her hair flared around her like seaweed, her grey eyes sightlessly staring up. Often he'd pictured her begging for mercy, not for herself, though, and writhing across the floor. Other visions woke him whenever he tried to sleep, in tears and sweat. Draco knew his father loved him, but his mother's love was unconditional, and lately, he believed, undeserved. I shouldn't have left, should have forced her to leave with me; I abandoned her to die.

"Fortunately she passed the Dark Lord's interrogation unscathed." Snape came full circle with this revelation and Draco's eyes popped open, searchingly. "For now. Tell me, Mister Malfoy, why it is that we are here? Why should I jeopardize my own life just to witness your wallow in self pity? Surely you must have some message to convey?"

Before he could protect himself, Snape performed Legilimency, probing the edges of his memory. Instantly Draco was thrust back to witness all the horrors of the past year, some lingering longer than others. His mind betrayed Draco, flaunting his fears and distresses like a whinging serial. The scenes yanked at his heart and caused him to heave in resistance. Through his encounters with his schoolmates, with the Death Eaters, his mother; what he had seen happen both the first and second times, everything was laid bare before Snape. But not the potion. Something in Draco rebelled against sharing that information.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, Snape was pushed out, stumbling. Both were winded from the experience and still staring at each other, but Draco avoided Snape's beady black eyes. Instead, he focused on the over-flowing book shelves behind him, unseeing. Draco hoped he had seen enough to believe him, but would he help? It was more than Draco had intended to share, verbally or otherwise. The feeling of being violated pulsed through him and he trembled slightly.

"Indeed," whispered Professor Snape, who righted himself slowly. "How?"

"I don't know."

"Liar."

"I don't understand," Draco amended. It was a niggling feeling deep inside that refused to divulge this detail, even as his mind raged that here was the man who had done this to him. He chalked it up as fear. Snape stepped towards him first, but then veered right, marching from the room. Panic set in for just a minute until he returned, grabbing Draco by the elbow.

"Out of here, quickly."

He had been led like a little child some distance from the cottage. The sun was rising behind them, lengthening their shadows until they dipped off the cliff towards the sea. Anxiety suggested that was where they were destined, but the tug from behind his navel proved otherwise. The pair landed awkwardly upon a doorstep. Snape's iron grip prevented Draco from tilting backwards, exhaustion taking its toll at last, and the momentum was used against him to shove through a door. Not given a chance to inspect their surroundings, Draco continued to be propelled up flights of stairs and into a room on the left. From what he could make out in the dimly lit space, it was a small bedroom occupied by a single bed, an end table and a spindly chair. Whether he was given sanctuary or imprisonment, Draco no longer cared. Snape did not enter, but instructed him to sleep. Gladly he obeyed.

***

  
Days went by in which Draco was kept secluded in the strange house, seeing no one at all. It may have been a prison, but at least he was still alive, for the time being. His thoughts dwelled obsessively over the future, both the past and the current versions. Where was his mother? Was she even still living? For whom did Snape work? As more time passed, the less he believed it to be the Dark Lord. Often he muttered to himself, "Better the devil you know..."

His wand had been taken while he was asleep, but nothing else. Draco had brought very little from home, all fitting within two pouches. The first held his money, which had dwindled faster than anticipated. The second possessed a handful of shrunken items: a photograph of his family in a gilded frame; a pen knife; a half-eaten box of Bertie Botts; and the vial. The debate over whether or not it was advisable, let alone safe to shrink the potion was finally trumped by the need for secrecy. Of course it did him no good now without his wand. His fate was being decided; meanwhile he imagined the effects of drinking the miniscule potion would have on his person.

Footsteps approached. Draco paused expectantly. There was hesitation on the otherside, then at last a weak knock.

Seriously?

"Y-Yes?" He stammered. The door opened inward, slowly revealing Hermione Granger. The shock was mutual, apparently, considering her returned gaze, but she said nothing. Instead she beckoned him out of the room. At least now I am certain which side Snape is on. That doesn't make him on my side, however. Granger led him down several floors to the kitchen where a small congregation waited. He recognized most, including Alastor Moody, the bastard, his cousin Nymphadora Tonks, and Weasley senior. Two others were present whom he had never seen. Snape was not among the crowd.

After Granger sat beside Nymphadora, no seats remained. Typical, that he would literally have to stand trial. Weasley addressed Draco calmly and quietly, even politely, he would later admit. Considering how many times in his young life he had belittled the existence of all Weasleys, it was definitely unanticipated. Arthur Weasley explained how they knew what had transpired between Draco and Professor Snape, but that they needed assurance.

Moody produced the Veritaserum.

"How can I trust you won't use that against me?"

"We're not the bad guys, Draco. Don't make us your enemies."

"How do I know you won't kill me afterwards?"

Stunned looks and outrage answered his question. It was not an option they had considered, obviously. Surprisingly the most appalled of the group was the Mudblood Granger. She stared back at him, aghast, her muddy eyes so large that Draco found himself drawn back to watch their reaction throughout the negotiations. It was because she was a true gauge, he reasoned to himself. They wanted to help him, but he had to reciprocate, naturally. He wanted his mother protected. Promises were spoken but neither side fully trusted without the Veritaserum, which Draco continued to refuse.

"Dumbledore promised me the Order would protect and hide my fam--"

"That's insubstantial since it never happened--"

"You know what I've seen," he bellowed over Moody. "That should be sufficient! Or don't you trust your own people?" He sneered, colour rising to his cheeks. He'd given them more than he was asking in return yet he feared their refusal. At last they agreed to help him. The information gleaned from Snape must have already been put to use because no one asked him anything further.

The group dispersed, but Weasley stayed behind, going so far as to rest a hand on Draco's shoulder as he steered the young man back towards the stairs. He quietly informed Draco about the rules of the house, which were no less than he assumed. He could not leave under any circumstances unless escorted by an Order member. His wand would not be returned until such time as the Order saw fit. He was not to make any contact with the outside world in any fashion. And he was to make himself of a use to the Order while under their protection. Knowing the alternative, Draco accepted.

***

  
There was always at least two other persons in the house, Draco noted. Most often was the man he had come to know as Whitmire, a stout fellow in his forties, Draco surmised. He wasn't much for conversation, though. Fortunately for them both, neither really had anything to talk about anyway. The second person rotated sporadically, so Draco made even less effort to familiarize himself with whoever was present.

He knew where he was stashed away. The hall portraits, even before speaking, made it obvious that this house belonged to a member of his extended family, the Blacks. It was a small comfort, but still a comfort, to be somewhere like home. No longer confined to the closet of his first days, Draco chose a room on the second floor, though he spent very little time there. Someone had made a tremendous effort towards the upkeep of the place, but it was still solemn, cold, and dusty. Compared to his own home, 12 Grimmauld Place was rather bleak. The dark draperies and heavy furniture lent an oppressing sensation no amount of cleaning spells or charming charms could alleviate. He'd been here nearly three weeks without word of his mother. This was how the Order chose to punish him.

The beast which mauled his arm four years ago ... no, three years, was the only other constant prisoner. When he questioned the sensibility behind incarcerating a deadly beast on the third floor, the fools tried to dismiss it by claiming Witherwings was a harmless family pet. He was not fooled, however. The afternoon he mistakenly opened that door and met the monster's eyes, he croaked in fear before frantically backpedalling out. Now and again, he could hear it calling out to him, between the snapping and crunching sounds of his dinner's bones.

Since beginning what should have been his sixth year for second time, Draco hadn't had a single full night of sleep. Between the anxiety over how he came to be here, and why, and the terrible things he had witnessed, the little sleep he managed was plagued with nightmares. Exhaustion didn't suit Draco, and since he was unable to sleep on his own or concoct a sleeping draught, he busied himself in the library. Here were housed various texts and manuscripts, many of which appeared as old as any Hogwarts or his own family boasted. And similar to the Malfoy collection, there were many dark volumes of interest. Silently moving past Witherwings nee Buckbeak's quarters, Draco headed towards the library, less for entertainment and more to occupy his time. With his mind set on devouring Dark Artefacts of the Sixth Century: A Compendium, he was startled by the presence of another person, and in his favoured chair, no less.

"Of course it'd be you," he groused, his voice husky and unused for days. Hermione Granger looked up as he spoke but did not act surprised to find him menacing from the doorway. She chose to ignore him over her book. "Shouldn't a little bookworm know-it-all like you be back in school?"

"Circumstances have changed, Malfoy. Perhaps you noticed...?"

He grimaced in response to her taunt. His steely eyes fell to the discarded issue of the Daily Prophet on the carpet. He couldn't recall the last time he'd read or heard any news; his captors worried he would use the paper as some devious method of communicating with his evil comrades, he supposed. Or perhaps they really were spiteful bastards after all.

Feigning indifference, Draco drifted closer. Granger appeared to be completely engrossed in whatever archaic monograph she found valuable enough to withstand his presence. Surreptitiously he stepped ever closer until she eyed his advancement with a scowl. Dropping the pretence, he reached for the Prophet. "Really, Granger, one would think you'd treat a source of knowledge with better care," he rebuked.

She scoffed but let him pick it up. Within seconds he was demolishing the paper like a starving Weasley at buffet. The headlines practically choked him with astonishment.

Is Harry Potter The Chosen One?

  


Dumbledore Forced To Resign; Ministry To Oversee Hogwarts Once More

  


Multiple Wizards Gone Missing - You-Know-Who To Blame?

  
He scoured the front page, turning in every direction to learn what had been reported. Never one to fully trust the Prophet, he was nevertheless completely captivated, so much so that he unknowingly dropped into a chair next to Granger. Several minutes passed in shared silence, excepting the occasional whisper and crinkle of a page turned.

"They're wrong, by the way."

"Who is?" Draco had almost forgotten she was even there, let alone so close. He refused to put down the paper blockade that separated them.

"The Prophet, of course. Dumbledore will never leave Hogwarts in the Ministry's care after last term. Although..." she hesitated.

Her pause hung heavy between them, forcing him to finally meet her gaze. "Although, what?"

"He does have his detractors," she winced. "Who are doing their best to undermine him." Her apparent innocence baffled him. Did she really think that was the bad news? He asked her.

"Of course not! It's just that those opposed to Dumbledore for petty, personal issues are using this opportunity to turn others against him and sowing doubt in the minds of the easily influenced and influential. And fear spreads faster than Fiendfyre."

"So what's going to happen then, Granger? Are they going to shut down the school - have they already?"

"No, not yet, but maybe. Many students didn't return this year-"

"Shocking that you would be among their party."

"I'm not," she defended. "Not exactly."

Draco crossed his legs and smirked. "Interesting. I'll be damned, if Hermione Granger isn't skiving off school!"

"Whatever, Malfoy." She huffed, colour tingeing her cheeks at the affront. He continued to watch her, quite enjoying the discomfort he caused. She shifted away from him, shielding herself once more with the oversized book she held in her lap. The volume's gold lettering had been worn away in places over the decades, yet Draco could make out enough.

"A little light reading?" Granger stiffened but said nothing, so he persisted. "Or perhaps you've had a change in perspective? Trying to get in good with a different crowd these days, Granger?" He wasn't personally familiar with the book behind which she literally hid, but knew it was considered dark magic. "Beating for the other team, so to speak, Mudblood?"

The insult hit its intended mark and provoked a reaction. Her book fell to reveal her outrage. "Of course not, Malfoy! I'm not the traitor here."

"No, you're just the uppity bitch sent to babysit me, aren't you? You and that buffoonish bunch of bastards still think this is all some clever deception; that I'm a spy for the Dark-"

"Considering you still call him that, I'd say they were right-"

"Shove it up your arse, Granger! I came here because you're-"

"You came here," she yelled, drowning his retort out. "Because you wanted to save your own arse, as usual! You're nothing but a bully and a coward, Draco Malfoy. Never once have you thought about anybody other than yourself."

He flew from the chair, the Prophet fluttering in many sheets, and braced himself on the arms of her chair, pushing her further back as their faces were scant centimetres apart. "I'd advise you to shut your ignorant mouth before I shut it for you," he fumed. He was near enough he could smell her breath as she panted, snarling and gnashing her teeth in turns. He watched her eyes narrow in hatred and believed, in that moment, she was capable of murder. Refusing to display his newfound fear of the Gryffindor, Draco lingered, matching her hatred.

Satisfied she would say nothing further, he retreated and abandoned the library for the rest of the day.

  


***

  
Somehow Draco found himself in an unused corridor, where before him lay the ever-winding staircase, wending through darkness and decay, seemingly never-ending. Slowly at first, then picking up speed along with the assurance of consistency, Draco took them. Up, up, and up still he climbed, occasionally stumbling in the dark. Something was waiting for him at the top, he sensed.

When at last the stairs evened out into a plateau he faced a heavy door, unhinged. Through it he crept, fear finding a place in his heart to tremble, and rested bitterly on his tongue. He didn't want to see this. The moon shone down in patches, hindered by clouds. A green glow overpowered what little white reflection it managed across the parapet. Someone was waiting for him, turned away and silent.

With trepidation Draco stepped towards the shadowy figure, all the while two thoughts ran through his mind. One told him he'd been here before, and the other simply told him to turn back.

The person before him began to shake, gently at first, but it quickly became quite violent. Draco stopped dead, too frightened to continue. Then the screeching began. Horrible, high-pitched shrieks erupted from the figure as he writhed in pain. All Draco could recognize in the wailing was his own name. Against his will, Draco moved, slowly, to the person's side, and yanked the cloak away.

It was Pansy and she was thrashing madly, striking at him with fists and claws. Several of her swipes found purchase as Draco tried to restrain her. Welts were rising in his flesh from her attack, but he hardly felt them. With both arms caught at last, he collapsed next to her, dragging her upright against his chest, willing her to settle. Her head flung backwards in a silent scream, knocking directly into his mouth, as suddenly she spoke again, but not with her own voice.

"How could you, darling? How could you do this to us?"

His mother's voice keened from Pansy's mouth, which was a disturbing image in and of itself, but her words assaulted worse than any physical hits. Without thought, soothing, incoherent words of comfort fell from his split lips along with trickles of blood. Pansy's flailing grew wilder then ceased all together. Hesitantly he pulled back to look down on her, but Pansy was gone. Instead he held Professor Snape as he lay dying, blood pouring from his nostrils and both eyes. The corpse opened his mouth and more blood oozed forth, gurgling whatever he attempted to say.

Aghast, Draco dropped the dead man, scrambling back like a crab. One last gurgle produced a bubble of blood and saliva which lingered mockingly against the professor's lips. The green-tinted Dark Mark was echoed within. He could feel the retching begin in the pit of his stomach.

"If you proceed to vomit upon my corpse, believe me, Mister Malfoy, the consequences will be great."

Draco shuddered awake, clammy from the sweat that lingered on his head and chest. His heart was galloping as though he'd just run for his life, his chest heaved uncontrollably, desperate to take in the oxygen. Darkness surrounded him and it took more than a few seconds to remember where exactly where he was. Even then it did not sooth his nerves. Unable to go back to sleep, Draco flung back the bedding and dressed for what was sure to be a very long day.

***

  
Time passed slowly for Draco, his days bleeding into each other until knowing the difference between one and the next was near impossible. He spoke to no one anymore, not even the photograph of his parents he kept hidden in the bedside table drawer. Every hour, it seemed, he regretted drinking the potion to come back to this time. More and more the impulse to attack one of his captors, steal his wand back, reverse the shrinking spell and drink it seemed his only option. Deep down, he knew it was impossible. They'd kill me before I could cast Engorgio. He often indulged the idea of Obliviating himself and smashing the vial, ridding himself of all the damn grief and responsibility. Granger's taunts in the library echoed what he already knew about himself. They stayed with him all during his waking hours, and sometimes followed him into restless sleep. It's the coward's way. He might as well kill his parents himself, the good it would do to give in. No, Obliviation wasn't an option. He had to make this chance count for something, and should he fail, there was at least one more sip to be had from the vial.

To discover why he was reliving the past, he had to solve the potion. No time like the present. He left his room, determined to scour the Black family's library for anything which might lead to an explanation. Wearily he rubbed his eyes. He had not seen Professor Snape since their meeting at the white cottage weeks ago. He now regretted withholding information from him, especially since Snape had been its previous owner. But something had told him not to reveal it, to protect the strange concoction even from the very man from which it had come. Or perhaps he was finally going mad.

Sanity aside, where was Snape? Why hadn't he returned? Obviously he had seen enough of Draco's mind to believe him, and to even convince the Order of the Phoenix to hide him, but what could be keeping him? A very small part of him hoped that Snape was somewhere protecting his mother from the harm he brought down upon her.

Draco's own stomach disrupted his thoughts, and he chose to continue past the library, down into the basement kitchen first.

***

  
"At least you're being productive with your time," mused Hermione Granger as she strode into the kitchen. Draco looked up when she spoke, lowering his mug and tipping the book he was reading down towards the table. The Black kitchen table was set up to accommodate a quite large family, much larger, in fact, than the Malfoy's dining room table. Being the lone occupant for breakfast, though, at such an enormous table really made him feel lonelier than usual. He was grateful for the distraction and the addition she made to the room. Draco rolled his eyes at the irony of his thoughts.

He watched as she traipsed to the stove and dipped herself out a bowl of porridge that Kreacher the house-elf had made and then chose a seat down and across from him. She sat primly, pressing out the folds in her napkin after draping it across her lap. Granger's right hand adjusted her spoon while the left turned the bowl slightly. A frown creased her brow as she re-examined her set up, missing something.

"Looking for this?" Draco offered the sugar bowl towards her, and she thanked him quietly. She sounded off, tired perhaps. He noted that the humour of her actually thanking Draco Malfoy for anything was lost on her. It was definitely something he never expected to hear in his lifetime. His attention returned to the book he brought from the library earlier that morning. It was well-worn, decades upon decades old, but still a spell book for students. It was not the same title as the one he'd bought once for Slughorn's sixth year potions, but the spells were, for the most part, new to him and seemed sufficiently sound. It also gave him the much needed distraction from the drudgery of his imprisonment and the frustration of his more pertinent research.

"Are you," began Granger, who realized just how loud her voice was in the cavernous room and quickly lowered it, "studying for N.E.W.T.s?"

He cut his stormy eyes over the rim of the book, one eyebrow arching in response. She either did not understand the subtleties of facial expression or she was as thick as her bushy mane, because, much to Draco's discontent, she continued.

"Because that book's well and good," she clarified between mouthfuls. "But it's not the approved text."

"Imagine that."

"So it might do you more harm than good," she expounded, unfazed. She sat there, waiting for a response - possibly even a thank you or some show of excitement. When all he did was glare at her, she finally understood. Clearing her throat twice, Granger resumed eating and let Draco delve back in as well.

"Because I know you can't request any books of your own." He couldn't believe how dense she truly was. Was she actually continuing about his damned N.E.W.T.s? "But I happen to have the recommended study book, Spellman's Syllabary, and I can bring it with me next time. If I had known, I would have -"

"Shut up, Granger!"

Abruptly she stopped, her eyes widened at his bark. The pair stared off in a moment of blissful silence and resentment. He noticed, for the first time, how her brown eyes were light enough that he could distinguish between the pupil and the iris, even in the low candle light. Her mouth was slack in surprise when he bellowed, but snapped shut in consternation soon after.

"Forget I offered."

"Why are you here again, Granger? Are you the bloody Order's way of torturing their prisoners of war?"

"You're such a self-centred pig, you know that?" She scowled down into her bowl, eating with fury. Around spoonfuls she muttered, "Not everything revolves around you, Malfoy."

"Does in my world," he rejoined with a smirk.

"Well." She tossed her spoon back to the table. It clanged and splattered slop a short ways. "Welcome to reality, Draco Malfoy! Those of us here are busy enough trying to survive a war and haven't the time for such pithy vanities."

"Yet you still are so concerned about the bloody N.E.W.T.s. Amazing," he drawled. "Let me see if I understand you. You're saying my reading an ancient text book to while away my incarceration is nothing but vanity?"

"No," she rushed to defend. "I'm saying there are better uses of your time like -" She abruptly ceased speaking, her eyes widening again before turning away. A faint blush spread across her cheeks.

"My, my, Granger," Draco laughed cruelly, pointing out her blush. "Thinking naughty things - about me, no less. Shocking! I feel so... so dirty now, used." His arms rose to protect himself mockingly.

She snorted a laugh, which was quite unbecoming and rather unflattering to Draco's self esteem "Hardly! I was going to say that time was better spent aiding the war effort by researching significant things."

"Such as?"

She blanched. "I...well...there are any number of...defensive spells..."

"That require a wand, which I have been denied. Yes, there's that. What else, Granger? What other ways can I be of service to you?"

His innuendo, like his humour, was lost on her again. Granger thought for a moment, moved to speak, but then stopped herself. This she did a few times and each were successively met with laughter.

"Granger, what have you done for the war effort?" His book tossed aside, Draco focused all of his energies on mocking. "Wrapped bandages for the wounded? Tended to the families of fallen wizards and witches, assuring they would have food and shelter? Baked pies? Knitted little caps for masterless house-elves who refused to leave their homes?"

"I've researched!"

"And what have you researched?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, like I'd tell you!"

"You've already told me quite a bit, actually." Granger crossed her arms defensively, huffing in response. "Besides, what harm is there is telling me anything? It's not as if I've got anybody I can run tell, do I?" The haughtiness dropped from her face. A cold ball of alarm began to churn in Draco's stomach, laughter forgotten. "Why haven't you brought the Daily Prophet to read today, Granger?"

Her eyes bulged just as she sprang from her chair. He was faster than she and soon had her pinned against the table. "What are you hiding from me?"

"Don't know what-"

"Don't lie to me!" He roared so loudly that she cringed. "What's happened? Is it...," he tried again, thickly. "Is it my mother?"

In a voice hardly louder than a whisper, she answered, "Your father's dead, Draco." Granger's eyes dashed about but failed to meet his. With both hands he seized her arms roughly, shaking until he finally captured her gaze. He studied her, searching for the truth.

"You're lying."

"They said he was ill in Azkaban - many prisoners were - and died because of it." Frantically the words rushed from her mouth as she stared up at Draco. Her supposed compassion for him made him angrier still. She winced at the increased pressure on her arms, and then weakly added, "But we don't think so."

"He did it, didn't he? He killed my father."

"We can't know, not for sure. They didn't leave," she swallowed. "I mean, there's no evidence." Granger groaned again. He continued to grasp her, craving the support more than out of anger. He thrust her back against the table and spun around, screaming. His rage was too great to contain as he allowed it to flow from him in waves of carnage - the chairs, the dishes, anything he could reach. It was not enough; something had to hurt as he did, and without his wand the feeling of being trapped had never been worse.

His screams trailed off into heavy exhalations, his entire abdomen rising and falling with the effort, and he braced himself against the stove. Draco's head bowed down below his shoulders with grief. Gently he felt a shaky hand press down upon his shoulder blade. He stiffened. A thought occurred then.

"Granger, you must help me," he sniffed, turning to find her comforting hand and hold it. Naturally she fought him, hesitantly, struggling slightly. "Listen to me; there's something you need to know." He slouched to her eye level, steadying her gaze with his earnestness. Granger paused in her struggle at this. Whatever she found in his face was enough for him to tell her.

***

  
"What you're saying is impossible."

"No, it's not. I'm here, telling you!"

They were both exasperated with each other, neither willing to compromise. He knew it was a mistake telling any of this to Granger. Draco knew better, of course, to gloss over some bits. The major factors were only necessary for her to help solve this dilemma.

But of all possible outcomes he imagined - destruction of the world as he knew it, spending the rest of his sad life in the loony bin of St. Mungo's, or possibly being convincing enough that the Aurors hauled him off to Azkaban - he never imagined this much doubt. Round and round the pair went, arguing about what he knew to be the past and what she refused to see as a possible future. Ten minutes were wasted with nothing beyond "no" and "yes" spoken. She found it absolutely mad that Snape could truly have murdered Dumbledore. Draco didn't hedge about his involvement, not really. He wasn't sure if he felt relief or disappointment when she offhandedly remarked that she knew he wouldn't follow through, though. Finally she seemed to either accept what he told her as irrelevant or the truth. The former, most likely.

Really he shouldn't have been so surprised. This was Granger, a Mudblood with no sophistication. Even so, she was a swot. Shouldn't she know about the endless probabilities of the Wizarding world, the physics and such? Isn't that what bookworms like her did for kicks?

A flash of regret passed over Draco briefly, suggesting his assessments could be wrong, but he refused to give in to that.

"Let's be pragmatic then, shall we? If what you say is true and you really did," she lowered her voice dramatically, "come back from...the future." He heard her quotation marks clearly enough and glared. "Then you ought to be able to prove it."

Draco sighed, frustrated to no end. "I can't prove anything to you until you reverse the damned shrinking spell!"

"And I can't trust you without proof!"

"Granger," he sighed with utter exasperation, running his hand through his shaggy white locks. "You may not even believe me then! But you must - you must do this."

Her unwavering gaze met his and in that moment he knew he'd finally roused her curiosity enough. Her features softened as she whispered, "All right."

***

  
"It doesn't make sense, still," she whined.

They'd been over and over everything for hours, ensconced in the library since breakfast. The longer they argued about the how's and why's and the possibility that Draco was not insane but in actuality reliving this year for the third time, the angrier he became, regretting ever opening his mouth. Granger needed everything spelled out for her, in black and white, from beginning to conclusion. She had no faith, which was disconcerting in a witch, Draco felt. After reversing the spell, grudgingly he might add, on his miniscule collected personal items, she turned sad eyes to the photograph.

She whispered to him that the whereabouts of Narcissa Malfoy were unknown. The Order had attempted to rescue her - Draco interpreted that as kidnap - but was unsuccessful. Granger spoke haltingly of hope, surprising Draco with her compassion for a family she must surely despise, if not by nature, then from personal experience. When he didn't respond, she had given him a moment alone with the sole keepsake of his family.

There had been a small argument over the books she chose to reread, ones in which Draco had found absolutely nothing useful. She countered curiously, "Believe me, Malfoy, I know a thing or two about time travel."

Countless volumes later and they were only more frustrated than when they began. Kreacher had Apparated with a tray of food, enough for a single person, all the while muttering not-so-quietly about the disgraceful Mudblood sullying his Mistress's precious library. Either Granger had not heard or she did not care, and it never occurred to Draco to reproach the house-elf. Instead he offered her the food, which she obligingly ate. When she had finished they both returned to the mounds of books either had searched, double-checking each other.

"Have you ever heard of Ray Bradbury?"

Her constant nattering grated on his nerves and he refused to answer. Instead he went on reading, watching her twitch out of his peripheral. He knew her well enough that what he did annoyed her almost as much, but apparently not quite like she did him.

"He's an author, Muggle, of science fiction? You know, science..." she trailed off when at last he glared up at her. "Doesn't matter." She waved her hand before her as though clearing smoke then continued, "He wrote a story this reminds me of..."

"Unless his story was all about how to shut up swots and make my world right again, Granger, then I don't give a toss."

Granger harrumphed and returned to her book, but only for a moment.

"We have to talk to Professor Snape."

Irritated at how long it took her to reach his own conclusion, he snapped, "Then bring him here because I can't leave." Each book he finished was tossed into a new pile across the room, careless of their age or value. He did a double-take and noticed her blanch. "Let me guess: You've lost him, too?"

"It's not really a matter of losing him," she tried, eyeing his discard pile, but was cut off with a wave of his hand. Draco took the opportunity to ask what had been plaguing him for months now.

"What makes you so certain he's on your side? I told you what he did -"

"But then he saved you. So obviously -"

"Who knows why, though? What if my ‘mistake' was him having to do the deed?"

"Why would that matter, as long as Dumbledore was dead," she cringed a bit. "All Voldemort would care about would be that. If you think Snape's working for him -"

"He is; he told me as much, after Slughorn's party," he said forcibly as he swiped another book, barely flipping through it before tossing it away for another.

"What if you've just imagined everything, Malfoy?" Granger flung her arms wide. "It's so outlandish, don't you think? What would be the purpose to all of this?"

"Honestly, do you think I haven't devoted all my time to that very question?! Why else would I even bring this to you, a Mudblood?" She flinched as he spat and he refused to tiptoe around her feelings. "I have lived through that night twice now - can't tell you how - and I don't want to do it again!" Draco paused for a breath, and another, and when he was calmer he spoke again. "It was my mission, to kill the old man, and Snape knew, from the very beginning, and tried to get in on it -"

"What if he was trying to stop you, to help you not have to do it?" She countered. "Can't you allow for that possibility?"

"Why do you keep defending him?!"

"Dumbledore trusts him," she answered without hesitation, scanning the shelves behind him for any missed book. Perhaps he was wrong about her lack of faith; it was misguided and blind.

"As nasty as he's been..."

"Just because a person is a right prat doesn't necessarily mean he's evil."

"But what evidence do you have-?" Draco recognized the irony before she turned to laugh at him. He joined her, and the tension lifted for awhile. "All right, we'll take that as a given, for now. Still think I was right to not let him know, though." She hummed.

"Occlumency is quite high on my to-master list." She sighed wistfully. "I just can't seem to get it."

"You should practice with a Death Eater, Granger. Death is quite the incentive." And just like that, the light mood vanished. Draco rose from his spot on the floor to pace between the chair and the window, each pass earning a glare from the Gryffindor. He ignored it. The repetitive motion helped him to think, and Draco felt there was something just out of reach, something long forgotten that would fit the pieces into place. If only it would return to him.

"Obviously there is nothing here that will solve this. I should go." Granger replaced the book she held back on the shelf, using her wand to levitate the remainder back into their separate nooks, frustration creasing her face. "I'm to check-in with Tonks at Hogwarts, before..." she trailed off, evidently remembering he was not a friend but her enemy. "Perhaps she'll have some word on Snape."A thought brightened her expression. "Better yet, if he's not returned, perhaps I could make my way into his quarters, see if there's anything about the potion there!"

Draco stopped pacing. That's it.

"Granger, you have to get my wand back."

She stared at him as though he had two heads. "You've lost your mind. There's no way I can get that back!"

"Talk to Tonks - she can get it! Tell her... tell her enough to convince her, Granger, but only if you think she can be trusted." His mind threw up images of fire and destruction, death and pain, before he whisked them away. The probabilities were stronger than the possibilities now, and he had to have his wand. In three steps he was in Granger's personal space, clutching her shoulders. "I know where we can find the answers to the potion, but I need my wand." She shook her head, her eyes running back and forth, searchingly. "Please...trust me..."

In the back of his mind Draco recognized a change in their relationship, for lack of a better word, as she nodded once before extracting herself from his grip. Watching her go, he felt phantom tingles of her against his palms.

***

  
So much time had passed since he last saw Granger that he began to lose the shred of hope. Draco took to hiding in his room for days where no one, not even Kreacher, bothered him. Food appeared and dishes disappeared and Draco's voice became a memory, even to himself. Rarely Draco would lurk in the hallways when new voices and sounds entered the house. He had learned that 12 Grimmauld Place had once been a headquarters of sorts for the good guys, but his presence, and more importantly, the information he had given in exchange for his protection, gave way to doubt about its continued safety. From what he could tell, they suspected Snape more now than before, especially since he was inexplicably on an extended leave from Hogwarts. This surprised Draco, to learn that the school hadn't shut down like Granger had implied. Perhaps she was exaggerating, or maybe it soon would shut its doors, possibly forever.

No one spoke of Harry Potter, to his great relief, but the omission was more dubious than the reverse. Draco wondered during his lonely, quiet hours if it was his presence that caused the hesitation to utter it or if there was something worse to fear, either within or without these walls.

Other times he wondered what kept her away.

In addition to his solitude, Draco felt like half a man. He hadn't been without his wand a single day of life for six years. Being denied it the past few weeks was tantamount to existing as a Squib. At times he felt less than even that, on par with a Muggle. Not a moment passed that he did not subconsciously reach for his hawthorn wand only to remember its loss.

A dreadful wailing began several floors below. The painting of Walburga Black howled like a banshee whenever uncovered. Draco had learned the hard way, although she especially loathed the unseemly inhabitants such as blood traitors and half-bloods.

"Out! Out of my home, you disgusting, vile Mudblood!"

Draco perked. The wailing became music to his ears. Granger's back! As though being chased by Witherwings himself, Draco dashed from his room down the stairs, panting to himself, "She's got it. She's got my wand!"

There she stood, levitating the curtains closed against the screaming matriarch's portrait, her coat lay wadded on the floor runner. Her hair was wilder than a Murtlap's nest. Draco imagined Hermione then as a hag with angry sparks shooting from the frizzy bits and Doxies breeding in her mass of hair. He couldn't help but laugh.

She returned his smile hesitantly, and he smirked, knowing she mistook his humour as a smile of greeting. Her smile vanished into surprise when Draco lunged at her, barking, "Gimme my wand, Granger!"

"I do have your wand, Malfoy," she said, barely dodging another charge as she ran into the library. His exuberance gave extra pounce to his feet as he tried again and again to capture the Gryffindor. Each attempt was thwarted as Granger somehow managed to ward him off. "Wait, Draco! Have you even thought about what this means?"

A zing shot through him at hearing her say his given name, something he had not heard spoken in too long. He shook it off and gave an impatient sigh. "It means, you stupid girl, that we can finally get to the bottom of this cursed potion!"

"No, I mean the potion itself, its purpose. If you aren't mad and you really are reliving this year, that would mean you have the chance to change anything and everything."

"Granger, have you not listened to a damned thing I've told you? I have changed things - twice now - and so far this time is only marginally better than the last. Now give me my bloody wand." He lunged again, and she dashed backwards, keeping an eye on him. She held the wand behind her back with one hand while the other stretched out before her to slow him down. Several quick steps around the drawing room they made, dodging chairs and end tables. Granger tried to reason with Draco.

"You could begin again, if you wanted. You could go back in time and stop Voldemort." Draco cringed at the name, amazed that she had no qualms about speaking it aloud. They both pressed forward. "Long before he becomes so powerful. You could change the future of the world, Draco, with just one drink. Have you considered that?"

She yelped as his hand nearly grasped her jumper, barely escaping him. The more she resisted the angrier he became, cursing each failed attempt. "Don't believe it works that way," he panted. The thought had occurred to him, more than once during his many silent hours. "For starters, I have no control over when I end up." He paused in his pursuit and she did likewise, smiling.

"You're wrong, though. You told me that when Professor Snape first gave you the potion that you were thinking about the pain, yes? When Harry," she brought both hands before her, making quotation marks. It must be tucked in her pants. "Supposedly nearly killed you?"

"He did nearly kill me! I was laid up for weeks, even after Snape and Pomfrey saw to me," he defended. Both hands came to rest on his hips as he glared at the girl. She merely scoffed disbelievingly.

"Really, I don't believe Harry is capable of such horrid things," she muttered, rolling her eyes, then continued in her condescending tone. "You said you concentrated on pain and found yourself back in the hospital wing?"

Irritated, he only nodded.

"What about the second time?"

Draco thought back to that night on the Astronomy Tower, the second time. Pansy...Snape...the desperation, loss of control and the spark of hope the potion created in his heart. He remembered the Dark Mark burning and the fear that he was already in Hogwarts, coming for him. "I was thinking about how much I regr-, how much my Mark was hurting." The pieces fell into place. He met her eyes and found a mirror of understanding.

"Give me my wand, Granger," he asked. "Please?"

She smiled triumphantly, steeping forward to hand it over, but pulled back at the last second. Granger made a face when she asked, "Have you considered the dangers of drinking an unknown potion?"

"Damnit, Granger, give me my wand!"

He chased her a few steps, stopping short just after she eluded him each time. He was out of practice, he knew, or otherwise his Quidditch skills ought to have caught the witch by this point. All the while she prattled on, something about how she should take his potion to St. Mungo's to be examined properly.

"There's no time for that, damnit," he huffed, stopping with his fists on his hips. He faced her dead on, studying as she feinted back and forth opposite a hassock.

With a Seeker's skill, he leaped and managed to tackle her. She ooffed in surprise, the breath knocked from her. Granger put up an excellent struggle, especially for a girl, Draco mused. Between her heaves and contortions she continued on about the dangers of the potion. Rather than waste his energy in argument or explanation, Draco concentrated on yanking the wand away from her person. Together they rolled, knocking into the heavy furniture. He tried pressing her face down into the carpet, to smother her into submission. Instead her knees came up under her, catapulting Draco off enough for her to crawl nearly a foot away before he lunged again. He yanked her flying hair, pulling several strands out in the process as well as yelp of pain. He collapsed on top of her with his full weight, wrenching her back against him.

"Give it... you... freakish... pbblt," he spat out a mouthful of her bushy hair as she tried to turn about in his arms, scrambling desperately. His hands fisted wherever they found purchase and unfortunately one found something quite soft indeed.

Draco froze. He knew what it was almost instantly but that didn't warrant letting go, according to the offending hand. Granger had completely stilled in his arms, save her heaving breaths, setting off sensory zings he couldn't control. His brain tried to remind his hands that this was Granger and that he most definitely did not find her attractive, but somehow the message got lost along the way. His panting lifted wild strands of her hair up only to fall back against his mouth with each inhale.

A thousand seconds passed before Granger pulled away, barely. Regrettably he released, quickly shuffling back onto his haunches. She rose, keeping her back to him, but did not move from her spot. Granger cleared her throat a couple of times, fussing with her clothes. He could feel heat coming off her in the cold library. More than once Granger ran her hands back and down her hair, shoving it away from her face. She turned her upper body around to face him, her wide eyes downcast. There was a flush to her cheeks that did funny things to him.

Draco held his breath when she finally looked at him. He felt a stirring, a sense of déjà vu, but somehow just looking at her made his chest ache. Dishevelled, flushed and unsure of herself, she came across as a beautiful young girl.

Before he knew what, Granger was kissing him. It started out hard, forcing herself on him but lessened as her hands fell to his thighs for support. Her fingers gripped him in pulses, much like a cat. He was too shocked to do anything but close his eyes. And then she was gone, leaving her taste on his lips.

"Um," she tried, clearing her throat again. "I just...wanted to try it."

Draco opened his eyes, realizing that he was leaning her way. His voice wouldn't cooperate the first time he tried to respond. "Try what?"

Her large brown eyes held his, displaying her innate sincerity. "The bad boy."

He could only stare back, astonished by the admission and the girl before him in equal parts. Draco was completely unable to move, to respond in any fashion other than the racing of his heart and the urging from within.

"Bugger it all," she kissed him again and finally his body woke up. Both wrapped their arms around the other, squeezing, assuring that this was real, that this was something. It wasn't what he expected kissing Hermione Granger would be like at all. She was warm, open, and soft, so very soft in his arms. She crawled closer and he lowered his hands to her bum, lifting her up on his thighs. He flexed his fingers against the denim, his nails snagging the material. She was running hers up into his hair, mussing it, but Merlin, it felt good, her nails scratching his scalp. He could eat her up, he felt. No, this has to stop - wait!

  
Draco pulled back from her mouth, huffing out his breath. She remained perfectly still, her mouth slightly parted and her eyes tightly shut. His heart gave two quick beats before his mouth caught up. "Hermi-"

The wall behind her suddenly exploded, her hair flying up in a cloud of dust and plaster, fabric and wood. Instinctively Draco crouched, turning away from the blast. The sound was deafeningly loud and for a long moment Draco believed he was dead. There was nothing but white smoke and the smell of burnt feathers and flesh. Seconds ticked by before he was certain he was still alive and he crawled. Every book upon the shelves had tumbled down, their pages flying loose from their covers, flitting about - it was the first sound he could distinguish over the rumble of the house falling down on him. Nothing remained of the library as it was not seconds ago, how it was for a lifetime or more. It was harder to breathe and he sputtered, desperate for oxygen, clambering over broken bricks and jutting boards, made all the more difficult as his blood mixed with the rubble, creating a sticky paste of sorts.

He closed his eyes, unable to see at all, and fell through the floor, going head first down into the basement. The fall knocked the wind out of him, which wasn't much to begin with, but the air was not as thick here. From this angle Draco could see up almost to the top floor, one entire wall completely gone, letting sunlight blaze through. No, that wasn't sunlight but fire, eating its way through what survived. He squeezed his eyes shut for five counts, then attempted to stand.

Draco failed.

From somewhere above, Draco could hear men yelling, presumably the spook Order members stationed here. He couldn't begin to imagine what exactly could have happened, but there was no need. Looming down from the ground floor gaping blast site stood a Death Eater, masked and horrifying. Without a second thought, Draco flung himself forward, away from the immediate danger, risking the unknown rather than face imminent death. Finding refuge behind the splintered kitchen table, he peered up and around the edge, searching for his tracker. All that could be seen was the swirl of his cloak as the Death Eater rushed towards faraway voices which called out for help. Draco's voiced cracked as he Accio'd his wand, which, surprisingly, was still in one piece. He noted that it wasn't as far from him as he feared.

Hermione.

As loudly as he dared, Draco called to her, risking a dim Lumos to light his way. The flames above roared as they grew, gobbling up what little oxygen there was. Screams of the fighting men were punctuated by disintegrating walls and the shrieking Hippogriff. Draco glanced up again. Deep down he hoped what he had seen - something large and on fire, frantically flapping within the collapsing house above - was only his fear working against him. Sure, some small part hoped that beast didn't survive, but not like that. The momentary nightmare was instantly replaced with deeper dread when he came across a pale hand lifted like a white lily, solitary and tilted.

Draco dropped to her side, tucking his wand in his back pocket before digging her out. Even more dust and debris rose to cloud his vision and he choked several times. Finally she began to appear from the wreckage, bruised and bleeding, and semi-conscious.

"Come on, Granger, we've got to go now," he continued to unbury her while her eyes scanned about sightlessly. Draco knew nothing about first aid, what to do beyond simple bandaging spells or pain relief, but he knew the greater danger lay in not getting out of there as fast as possible. Granger moaned and he heard something snap so he stopped. As gently as he could while trembling himself, he laid her back down on the bricks, cupping the back of her head. He could feel the sticky blood seeping into the creases of his fingers. Unbidden his words replayed in his mind...I'll be there, laughing as you lay dying...

Draco felt sick. Granger sputtered, blood bubbling from her mouth. He'd been here too many times in his life, seen this dying form more than any one person should have to, at any age, let alone a child he was still. Granger's eyes dimmed then grew, big as saucers, clutching weakly to his shirt. She gurgled something he couldn't understand.

Hesitantly, his eyes continually shifting from the dying girl before him to the gaping hole above him, he lowered his face closer to hers. She tried again.

"Think...back...Draco..."

Again she repeated it, then stilled. Draco didn't know he was crying until he noticed the splashes falling on her open eyes, blending in and sliding back out, making tracks through the grime on her face. Angrily he yanked her up against him, clutching her as he wailed. Fate asked too much of him; it was more than any one person could survive, the past year. He gave into the frustration, kicking out and tugging her closer. In the back of his mind, Draco knew he had to escape; that precious time was being lost that could not be taken back. Think back, Draco.

Granger urged him to fix this, like so many times before. Draco muttered promises to her body before gently laying her back down. He refused to look directly at her now, fearing what might return his gaze. Trouble was, the potion was three stories up, or it was minutes ago. It could be anywhere now. Draco refused to acknowledge the likelihood that it could have even been destroyed in the attack. Instead he dashed for the stairs leading up to the ground floor, hoping, praying to anybody who would listen to a bastard like him, that he would not meet anybody along the way.

It was a treacherous path, one that nearly collapsed beneath him twice before he reached the landing. Glancing frantically while trying to hide, he saw no one else, but heard them, very close by. Admitting it was too risky, especially not knowing if the vial had survived, Draco breathed the spell to retrieve the potion. Too much time had passed without its arrival. There was no turning back this time.

A jet of red zoomed to his right, barely missing him as he reacted, falling back down a few steps. Bending in half, Draco ran past the now forever silent, burnt portrait of Mrs. Black, heading for the entrance. Another blast of magic nearly got him just before he slipped on fragments of elf heads scattered about. Something slammed against the back of his neck, and Draco screamed.

A faint tinkle was clear throughout the cacophony. Draco laughed maniacally at the shimmering yellow potion in the vial. Without a second wasted, he ripped it open and drank. The cool liquid was welcome in his parched throat, despite the horrid taste. Hastily he replaced the stopper as he heard his name being bellowed through the ruins. He could see no one, but they knew he was there. There wasn't a doubt in Draco's mind that Snape had betrayed him - betrayed his supposed comrades, again. Snape was responsible for all of his misfortune.

Snape had killed Hermione Granger.

Her brown eyes appeared before Draco again, as they were not half an hour ago, in the library: large, open, slightly bewildered. He thought back further, desperately, and for a brief second their exchange in the Hogwarts library, the appalled look she gave him when he wished her dead, flashed before him once again. He focused on Granger's eyes as the potion took its toll.  
Blinking, he was surprised to he could see clearly, but even more surprised by where he had been sent this time. Once more he was at Hogwarts, in the corridor outside the library, and it was wonderfully quiet. Draco took a moment to relish the lack of sensory overload, thanking whatever deity had seen him through the past hour. His appreciation went so far as to thank the potions master. He stopped short.

After weeks upon weeks he had wasted desperately trying to unravel the mystery of the potion, he had come no further. Draco recalled how much research he attempted when last he was here, compared to what he and Granger had managed at Grimmauld Place. Granger...

What Draco expected to feel was relief, to be sure, but it was different somehow. There was a tinge of euphoria. His mind would not move past her face, even as he tried to recall what he had been doing when he was living this moment before. Without knowing it, his feet carried him back into the library, searching her out. All he could see were her large brown eyes, her bushy mane, and stern consternation.

Draco laughed, snapping himself back into the present. Quickly he walked through the library, searching for her. Down one aisle, near the biographies of hags, he spied Dedworth and Daphne snogging. Slightly repulsed, he continued on until finally he found her. He was not surprised to see her sitting at the very same table as before, several metres down the way. Before long he was pulling out the chair beside her and plopping down into it.

"And he's back, ladies and gentlemen," she murmured mostly to herself. Draco released a breath he was unaware he was holding, chuckling a little at the end. Granger ceased her note taking and looked up, her eyes growing rounder with each passing second he stared back at her. Inching away, she finally blurted out, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco turned sideways to face her full on and quietly asked, "Granger, can you get me into the Restricted Section?"

Granger looked about, her face turning down when whatever she sought was not found. She gave a side glance to Draco, her eyes narrowing. "What are you on about? I'm trying to study -"

"Can you or not?"

"It's restricted, Malfoy," she emphasized, as though explaining to a child, turning back to her studies.

Draco bit back his nasty retort, counting to five before trying again. "But you have access, don't you? You've got a signature?"

She ignored him.

"See, the thing is," he floundered. "I need to do some research...for Potions..."

"If that were true, then Professor Slughorn would have given you permission, wouldn't he? Or possibly Snape, since he's your Head of House. Besides, why would I take you there?" She gave him a contemptuous look, her quill halting briefly. "I'm not stupid, Malfoy! I know you're just trying to lure me away so that you can-"

Draco recoiled. "It's not like that, Granger! Merlin's balls, you think I want to haul you off to sno-"

"No!" Granger's voice rang out, drawing the attention of other students nearby. Luckily the stacks muffled her outcry from carrying all the way to Madam Pince. Granger began gathering up her things, stashing them into her haversack without care. He couldn't let her go!

Draco clutched her elbow as she moved, and she jerked. Her bag fell off the table, the contents scattering about on the floor and giving more reason for the disturbed students to gape at them again. Draco didn't notice them, though. Instead he saw something playing behind Granger's eyes.

She knew. She remembered.

Slowly she collapsed into her chair, turning slowly to face him once more. Yes, she remembered. In a voice that echoed her trembling hands, reaching absently for a quill that rolled just out of reach, she asked, "What's going on, then?"

He didn't answer, rather he snatched up the quill, stuffed it into her sack. Draco took her hand in his, abandoning her items as he lead them towards the Restricted Section. Granger continued to make little noises, almost questions, which he chose to ignore. He pressed her forward, gently even, towards the entrance. She lifted the velvet rope and continued on, reaching back for his hand. He felt the clamminess of her palm and was not repulsed.

It was as though she were entranced, needing no prompting from him as she lead them towards a back unit. When she dropped his hand to peruse the shelves, he felt its absence, flexing his fingers.

"Do you have it with you, Draco?"

He looked up. She wasn't watching him, but they both felt a charge. He produced the vial from his pocket. The vial appeared empty, save a drop or two.

"What happened?"

Draco told her about the attack and hedged about her death. She took it much better than expected. Without comment, Granger plunged into the shelves, pulling down books which she handed over to Draco to carry. After exceeding his limit, the remaining books she believed essential were levitated back to a table, away from prying eyes. Both chose a book at random and turned to the indexes. Hermione spoke first.

"I don't know exactly what just happened," she whispered, drawing his full attention. "But I understand just the same. How..." Her voice cracked and she tried again. "How many times have we been here?"

"Twice now," he answered, levelling her with his stare. "Thinking of you brought me back to here, to now."

Draco felt heat on his cheeks to match the blush on Granger's. At last she looked back to her chosen volume, and together they researched.

***

  
"No, no no," she murmured to herself. Draco had become used to this, having spent countless hours researching an apparently nonexistent potion with her. His frustration level had grown too, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Still, he didn't interrupt her; he knew it was how she did what she did.

At one point, seemingly apropos of nothing, he heard her muttering to herself. "Could static electricity have sparked the haptic memory of the alternate past, or would that be other sensory memory? Perhaps simply déjà vu..." She held a quill clamped between her front teeth as she worked out whatever nonsense she was questioning, and when she noticed him noticing her, her blush was overpowering. It reminded him once more of their last moment before the explosion.

It was Draco's turn to blush.

Eight o'clock came and went before Madam Pince finally shooed the pair from the library. Granger had attempted to persuade the strict witch into letting them linger, creating a story in which she and Malfoy were working on a special assignment from Professor Snape. The vulture merely stared them down and when they did not move at first, she brandished her feather duster, insisting that the library was closed to all students.

There had been many false leads discovered, but nothing satisfying. Hundreds of books surrounded them, both ones they had and had not gone through yet, and with a mere flick of the librarian's wand, they all returned to their spots. Madam Pince hovered, glaring down her vulture-like nose, while they slowly packed their papers to leave. Neither was speaking to the other. Draco followed behind Granger, listening to her as she assured him they would have better luck tomorrow. He didn't even speak up when she continued down the corridor rather than head for the Grand Staircase. She was talking to him, but more for herself, making plans to meet first thing in the morning, as soon as Pince would let them back in. Under normal circumstances, Draco would have mocked her annoying insistence. Now it was life or death, and he was grateful for her.

"You really should talk to Professor Snape, Draco."

"No," he growled. Granger gave a heavy sigh and a dirty look back at him. This was not the first time, and he doubted it would be the last, that she insisted he go to Snape. They had a small row earlier about it. He'd argued that Snape couldn't be trusted, and she humourously declared, "You sound just like Harry."

Together they walked the corridors of the fourth floor, disregarding the looks of amazed students that saw them. Granger continued to think aloud and Draco listened. It worried him how frustrated she was. Granger was the smartest student at Hogwarts - possibly of all time - and if she couldn't resolve this...

"Malfoy, you said that you used the Vanishing cabinet the first time, to let them in, yes?" She broke through his reverie. He nodded. "And that Pansy did it the next time." It was a prompt, not a question. "So obviously you came back to this precise moment to stop Pansy. Don't you see?"

Draco disagreed.

"No, I think I came back here for you." She eyed him warily, and quietly he rectified.

"Because of your ... brains and what you can access... the books..." he finished lamely. She did not comment, but instead pressed on.

"You said she fixed the cabinet for you, to save you, when you chose instead to not do it because you believed that to be the mistake, right?"

"We've been over this, Granger, time and time again!"

"Well, obviously we must do it again! Think about it, Draco." A surge ran through him when she said his name, the long a of her pronunciation.

"Granger, there's something else," he began hesitantly. She stared back at him with curiosity. Even though he saw no one else, that didn't necessarily mean they weren't being watched or overheard. Taking her hand once more, he silently tugged her into an empty classroom.

Apparently the house-elves didn't bother with keeping this room up, judging by the thick layer of dust upon the desks and the cob webs the size of Hagrid's hands. Disdainfully he looked about, momentarily distracted, until Granger cleared her throat. He turned to her. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts, her index finger tapping impatiently.

Draco cast a locking charm on the door, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Muffliato," Granger whispered. Quickly he turned back, questioningly. She shrugged. "Something Harry shared from a book..." A dreamy look fell across her face. Draco was in no mood to witness Granger going ga-ga over her damned hero. Angrily he did his best to overlook it. For now.

"There's somewhere else we haven't tried yet. Last time, at Grimmald Place, you suggested coming back here, raiding Snape's quarters." She was definitely not paying him any mind now. "Would you save your damned hero worship until we've solved this potion, Granger?"

She scrunched her face in distaste. "Hardly, Malfoy. No, I was thinking..."

"I was talking to you, you daft twit! I know Potter's the bloody hero here, but-"

"Harry has - or had, rather - this spell book," she went on, not hearing his outburst at all. "And all the margins filled in with corrections and additions..."

"I don't bloody care about Potter!"

"Listen to me! It's unique, dangerous. It's where he," she broke off, alarmed. He already knew why, had figured it out without needing her to explain. The book had been how Potter had bested Draco all year in Slughorn's class. And in the bathroom. He cut his eyes back to her apologetic grimace, ignoring her pity. At least she knew better than to spell it out for him.

"Get me the book, Granger."

"I can't, he's-"

"Get me the damned book!" He seized her by the arms, shaking. Her head lolled back twice before she struggled away with a growl. Before he could take two steps her wand was shoved against his throat. Draco reeled in his temper as best he could, lifting his empty hands in abdication. Granger didn't even blink an eye.

"Harry got rid of it, just after your fight," she said. She remained hard, unmoving, her wand steady. He could feel his pulse against the Vine. "I don't know where exactly, just that he took it to the Room of Requirement."

"Then why bring it up," he seethed.

"Perhaps Harry'll help-" She pleaded with her hands.

"I'm not asking Potter for shit!"

Granger glared at him, as though with her eyes alone her fury could incinerate him on the spot. "What if the Half-Blood Prince is responsible for that potion?" She jutted her chin in his direction. Baffled by the moniker, Draco stared back. He had no idea to whom she was referring, but Potter spent all his bleeding time hounding Draco, making his miserable excuse for a life just that much worse.

"Potter doesn't need another opportunity to play the hero," he murmured.

Granger blinked, slowly removing her wand, keeping her eyes on him as she made her way to the door. Draco turned on the spot, never breaking her stare.

"Meet me in the morning, Draco." And she was gone.

***

  
Saturday mornings were meant for having a lie in, lounging about the common room, or possibly getting an early start for the next Quidditch match. Not for standing like a complete pedant outside the library, waiting to get in. Luckily for Granger, nobody else in their right mind was up this early, walking the corridors.

Moments later, the lock clicked back and Draco straightened, waiting to be let in. Madam Pince stood on the other side, her pinched face and beady eyes already mistrusting. For Merlin's sake, did the hag live in there?

Draco shuffled passed the old witch and made his way to a table quite a distance from the Restricted Section but close enough that Granger wouldn't miss him when she finally showed. When Madam Pince finished opening her library, she found many reasons to waltz past his table, suspiciously eyeing the absence of text books. Draco sneered unabashedly.

Like a tornado through Diagon Alley, Granger arrived, her hair a frizzy mass. Draco puzzled over how she managed to not only stand upright beneath the weight of that ... hair, but also how she managed to pass through doorways. Considering she was helping him, for whatever reason she kept to herself, he kept his mouth shut and instead nodded in greeting when she spied him.

Granger was anything but surreptitious, cocking her head between the librarian and the collection they needed. Silently, disdainfully, Draco rose from his seat, sending one final glare Pince's way. He stood behind Granger as she removed the velvet rope and marched forward, her wand flicking the unchecked books back from their shelves as well as several new ones.

It was definitely too early for this.

An hour had passed with little more than grunts and "Look here"s passing between them. Granger doubled checked Hogwarts, a History for anything that might pertain to time travel. All Draco managed to find where references to Time Turners, and every time he brought them up, she merely scoffed, insisting it wasn't a possibility. Draco was beyond desperate.

"Did you talk to Professor Snape?" She whispered.

"No."

"Why -"

"Because he's gone," he cut her off, pitching his book aside.

"What about Pan-"

"Can't find her."

"You know very well where she is, Draco," she admonished.

"Still can't get to her, though. These books are all rubbish, Granger."

The look she gave him was as if he had said her children resembled mandrakes. Come to think of it, she very well could consider these musty old books like family. Anxiously Draco looked towards the main library. Between his current predicament, Pansy, the cabinet, and his mother, he had reached his anxiety limit. Every moment they came up with nothing close to a clue, let alone solution, was a moment forever lost. The vial was empty, mostly, and he knew he had scant hours left in order to survive this ordeal.

"Granger," he hunched towards her, tugging her book away. "Did you pass your Apparition exam?"

"Of course I did."

Draco mutely mocked her, and then continued. "There's somewhere else we haven't looked yet. Twice I was with Snape at this white cottage, near the sea. It must be where he lives, or goes, or whatever. That's where he gave me the damned vial and forced me to drink, just before the Death Eaters descended."

A look of excitement crossed her face, but soon it was gone, replaced by an apologetic one. Before he could finish describing the cottage, she held up her hand. "I know what you're suggesting, Malfoy, but it's not possible." He attempted to argue, but she just closed her eyes. "I've not seen the place myself, and Apparition doesn't work that way. Besides, I've not done a side-along before; could splinch you."

"Then I'll just have to go by myself."

She laughed, eyeing him smartly. "You don't have your licen-"

It was his turn to cut her off with a look. Bravado infused him. "I've got a broom."

"But you've no idea where this white cottage is," she pointed out. "Be sensible, Draco!"

He knew, he knew it held the answers. Snape had retrieved it from a back room, he had been there twice because of the potion... the solution was there. There was a niggling in Draco's mind. He worried that all this focus on discovering the potion's origin and composition would be too late to be of use. Even if they did discover it in time, and by some miracle could recreate it, what then? Go on for Merlin knew how long, reliving his life again and again, hoping each time that he would somehow, accidentally do whatever it was that Snape thought he must correct?

Granger was right; he ought to talk to Snape, but the man was impossible to find. He was almost certain that the first time he lived these days that Snape had been around - in fact, he would bet his life on it - which made him believe more strongly that something he had done had altered the present.

What if his actions, or inaction as the case may be, forced the Dark Lord to call upon Snape to answer for Draco? Or perhaps he went willingly, playing both sides against one another. Granger said she trusted Snape because Dumbledore did. He scoffed. Obviously Dumbledore wasn't the best judge of character.

Lost in his own doubts, he barely registered when Granger closed her final book and sat back, sucking on her quill.

"You have to stop her."

"And then what? Everything I've done has failed horribly!" He exploded, shoving his chair back with a screech. "I don't know how to fix any of this! I don't fix the damned cabinet, and people die. I turn myself over, and still people die - my parents, Snape, the ones I love -" he choked. She softened somewhat, angering him further with her pity. "I can't fix this, Granger."

"Fine! Then give up - quit, again!" She slammed out of her own seat, staring up at him, fists on her hips.

"It doesn't matter what I do - nothing ever changes. The Death Eaters will get in, Dumbledore will die, and I am just buggered!" He yanked his sleeve up, exposing the Dark Mark. "Nothing helps, Granger, nothing changes!"

Immediately she grabbed his arm with one hand, tugging it back down, out of sigh, the other reached up to shush him. Draco panted against her palm, falling into her. Slowly her hand peeled back, her eyes peering up at him. There was an urge, deep within Draco, to move, to act. To do something, even something rash, just to prove to himself he was capable of doing. He wanted to impact her, to make her understand fully how powerless he was.

How afraid.

Granger turned away, releasing him completely. He swayed in her wake. She must have felt his movement, because she turned back suddenly, meeting his eyes for a second or two. He saw something shift there, but it wasn't pity. Before he could identify it, she cast her gaze down to his neck. Draco swallowed thickly.

"You have to save her, Draco," she whispered. "And find Professor Snape."

She was gone before he could argue further.

***

  
Just before dusk Draco made his way to the Owlery. He had spent the rest of the afternoon going over what Granger had said. They found nothing whatsoever in the Restricted Section - baffling her more than him, as evidenced by her disbelieving mutterings in the stacks. He knew she was right; he must stop Pansy in order to save her, but then what? He refused to give up on the white cottage though. And then there was Potter's spell book.

Too many paths and not enough time.

Draco brushed his hand down the owl's breast, listening to her sleepily shrill. He had written a missive to his mother, telling her nothing more than that he was sorry and he loved her. His fervent wish was that it would indeed find her. He had watched the Daily Prophet carefully, fearing any mention, any inference, that something had happened to either of his parents. The dread from before remained him with, haunting him, knowing that he essentially had killed them.

Petting a school owl only prolonged the inevitable and at last he set the bird free. Draco watched it soar off until he could no longer make her out, returning to the dungeons.

The Slytherin common room was practically empty, which was no surprise considering it was supper time. He couldn't face the crowds in the Great Hall, nor did he have any appetite. Draco sincerely hoped that Pansy was down there now and not suffering as he had, hours upon hours in that mausoleum. He would wait the entire weekend if he had to, until she appeared. Solitude exacerbated his fears. He really did not wish to go back to the Room of Hidden Things. He knew from Granger that Harry Potter suspected his activities, and knew for a fact that Potter followed him around Hogwarts. At least here, in his common room, he could avoid annoying Gryffindors. All of them.

He didn't deny how afraid he was of entering that secret room again. Between the Dark Mark's throbbing reminders, his terrifying imagination and the knowledge of what had been and could still be, he really could not face it.

Soon his housemates would return, laughing and talking about their easy, carefree lives. Not even the Slytherins fully understood what was lurking around the corner. The longer he waited, the more impatient he grew. He watched as his fellow students arrived, scanning for her face among them. After several long moments Draco seized the next girl that waltzed by, demanding to know where Pansy was. The girl was shocked and annoyed, refusing to tell him anything. Her companions gave him a smug look, some even laughing. He had no clout among them anymore.

Instantly he forgot the haughty girls, checking for Blaise. He found him chatting up a fifth year up on the ground floor, and ignoring the scathing looks she gave Draco, he questioned his former friend. Casually Blaise informed him that Pansy hadn't made it to the Great Hall.

Draco knew where she was.

Back and forth outside the Room of Hidden Things he paced, silently repeating his intentions, but it refused to admit him. Over and over he tried, dozens of variations, but none worked. Draco called out to Pansy, desperately slapping at the wall that stood between them. She had to be in there, ignoring him. A handful of students had passed by, most scurrying away as he swore and kicked and cast spells at an apparently harmless tapestry.

"Pansy," he exhaled, running his hand down the tapestry in defeat. "Let me help, Pansy. Please..."

Some time later, Draco retreated.

***

  
Monday morning rolled around and still he had not seen Pansy. Draco felt he would soon have a nervous breakdown, his anxiety zooming higher than a golden snitch, holed up in the dungeons as he was, and so he chose to go up for breakfast.

Absentmindedly he sat at an empty table near the door and tucked in. After filling his plate with bacon, eggs and toast, Draco's stomach churned and he could taste bile rising. He shoved the plate away, deciding to go for a walk, or perhaps to take spin on his broom - anything to relieve some of his tension. His lack of attention caused him to run smack into a smaller person.

"Watch it," he barked, before noticing it was Hermione Granger. Instantly his headache increased. He pinched the bridge of his nose, staving off the pressure as he moved around her, but she held him in place.

"Wait, Draco, I want to ask you something," she murmured, checking to see if anybody was watching. Satisfied, she tugged his robe almost imperceptibly before stepping through the door. He didn't question, but rather followed her silently all the way up to the second floor. His headache pressed against his skull, threatening to rip its way out like Athena on a rampage. If he thought he would be able to rest afterwards, he almost wished it would happen.

Granger slipped into a classroom, dragging him behind her. Once the door was shut, Draco leaned against it. He was too defeated to bother locking or silencing the room. He most definitely wasn't prepared for anymore of Granger's inane probing either.

"Something has been bothering me." She puffed up, not looking directly at him. "For sometime now, actually. You must think me very stupid, or yourself rather clever, but you're wrong. I know you're holding something back, something critical. It doesn't fit, Draco. And I'm fairly certain why, but you have to tell me." She levelled him with her most severe, unwavering stare. "What exactly happened on the Astronomy Tower?"

His face twisted harshly. He refused, absolutely refused to get into this with her, now of all times! Being Granger, she persisted, clutching his robe front, shaking him. Draco fought her off, attempting to leave, all the while groaning and making jeering noises at her efforts to hold him.

"No, wait, listen to me! I have some idea -"

"I'm sure you do..."

"...need to know for certain. You know it's pivotal, Draco, so tell me already."

"Sod off, Granger! I've had my fill, of all of this shit!" he barked.

"What did Dumbledore..."

"Leave it, Granger!"

"...after you disarmed hi-"

Draco abruptly cut her off, slamming her against the nearest wall. Her head hit and her eyes rolled back as she dug her fingers into his forearms. Draco howled, releasing his terror. He hoped to drive it into her, to set it loose upon Hogwarts - so long as it no longer tore him up from the inside.

Somehow she broke free and cast a Silencing Charm on him. The primal act of expulsion was rendered useless. He was trapped in this state, and the irony was not lost on Draco. Silencio or not, all Draco could hear was his own blood rushing through his body, invigorating him to ravage, to make someone or something else feel his rage, his pain. Draco thrashed against the room, knocking desks arse over tea kettle, slashing his wand viciously, shooting multi-coloured sparks, brightening the room in a dozen shades of savagery.

He never wanted to tell her, tell anyone, about what happened that night. He had come to accept what a failure he was by now. But the shame, the guilt was still too raw to share. Admitting he faced Dumbledore in a duel and could not perform the Killing Curse was one thing; confiding that he killed an old, wandless man who offered him safety was another thing entirely. It took several minutes to calm down again, and when he felt his control slip back into place, he used his own wand to end the spell.

Granger deserved to know.

"He offered me hope," he said hoarsely. "While I had my wand aimed at his heart, when he was near death already and knew what I had come to do, the old man wanted to help me." Draco dropped abruptly onto the nearest bench, his head falling into his hands. Granger just listened.

"I wanted to take it, so much, but couldn't. No one could help me." He paused, roughly wiping his face. He inhaled sharply. "I was foolish enough to believe Snape when he told me I could change all that. Nothing ever works, no matter how hard I try each time. And now there's nothing for it - no more potion, no solution. No hope. My only choice is to either let Pansy take the fall or somehow get there before she does, finish what I started."

"Those aren't your only choices, Draco," she said, dropping to her knees before him. Draco looked up but she was blurry. He was beyond caring if Granger saw him cry. "There's still time, Draco. Go to Dumbledore."

"You are mad!" He chuckled humourlessly. "Do you honestly think the man I'm meant to assassinate will let me anywhere near him?"

"Of course he will! He knows - he must know, even now, Draco. He did then, and he can help you now, I'm sure of it! But you have to go, before it's too late." They both knew what she meant. Staring across at her, he briefly wondered where Hermione Granger had been at that time. The Death Eaters were attacking students, likely killing some. Had she survived it? Where was she the first time, for that matter? Suddenly Draco felt a dull ache deep in his chest when he thought where she would go this time.

"What if," she quietly asked. "What if Professor Snape had meant for you to have never gone to the Astronomy Tower? Or, what if you were supposed to take Dumbledore's offer?" She had hope in her eyes and he envied it. It fluttered like a small bird, dampened by the raging storm of his meltdown, but still it survived. Hermione Granger always survived.

Draco placed both hands on her face, pulling her towards him. He wanted to drink in her hope, swallow it whole and make it his own. He wanted the assuredness she had, the conviction.

He wanted to be a hero for her.

It wasn't the possessive kiss of lovers, not even of hormonal teenagers. It was comfort, understanding passing from one to the other through trembling lips. To not feel quite so alone, deep in the soul, if only for a moment. For Draco it was bittersweet and would outshine the last, because finally he knew what had to be done.

Twice more he pressed his lips to hers and she answered each time, accepting him. There would be no lover's goodbye for Draco, but he was thankful for her kiss all the same.

***

  
Aimlessly he wandered, his mind repeating Granger's words. He understood what she wanted of him: to be the hero, save the day. But that wasn't Draco. He would not be the hero, even in his own life.

When they parted she begged him, actually begged Draco Malfoy, to come with her. She insisted that Dumbledore could resolve everything, and he knew it to be true. But not how she believed. Because he did not agree, she suggested again that he talk to Potter, convince him to take him to the spell book. His only response was a chaste kiss before walking away.

His feet carried him into the girls' bathroom. Draco stood before the mirror. It had been fixed by someone, but you could still see a small line zigzagging from the corner down. How many hours had he spent in here, fretting and later crying to Moaning Myrtle about his impossible task? He smiled sadly. She had been his confidante, his comforter, offering no help whatsoever.

He splashed water on his face, scrubbing away the patheticness of his life. Too weak to rise above his problems, then or now. Painfully he recalled the last time he'd been here, how Snape had saved his life. Subconsciously his hand right hand rubbed at the barely-healed wound. It would scar, they had said, and he knew it would forever be a reminder of how little he deserved to live. Another mark of cowardice.

Draco, you are not a killer.

Dumbledore was right, damn him. He couldn't hack it - not as a Death Eater, or a wizard. Hell, not even as a man. All this time, he was only deluding himself, running around trying frantically to make everything right, only to fail spectacularly. It occurred to him that each failure, from minor to epic, all stemmed from his encounter with Dumbledore.

Draco finally understood the purpose of the potion. He returned to his dormitory, retrieved the vial of mysterious potion and held it to the light. So much upheaval, so much misery in such an insignificant vessel.

There was just enough for one final taste...

***

The pain no longer registered for Draco, he was so numb. Very slowly he climbed the steps of the Astronomy Tower. He was weary, beyond weary. He had failed every opportunity and had no more chances to make a difference. Save one. With a heavy heart but a clear mind, he made his way to the top of the tower.

Below the Death Eaters were ransacking the school, killing his classmates, possibly even killing Hermione. Draco shook her off, not wanting to think about her now. He was not what she deserved, but a small, hidden spot deep in his soul hoped she survived this night.

He would never know the outcome, not for tonight and certainly not from the first night. In fact he was certain he would not make it beyond the next few moments. But he had to correct his mistake, like Snape had told him so very, very long ago. Each step grew heavier; his legs protesting what he knew had to be done. He had run out of chances.

Upon reaching the door he could hear Dumbledore speaking fervently to someone, demanding quietly to whomever it was to bring back Snape.

"You swore to obey me, Harry - go!"

Potter. It was always Potter. Briefly Draco wondered if this was different from before and secretly he hoped it was, but ultimately it made no difference. With Potter present his misery would be over as quickly as his life. He had no other choice.

Suddenly pounding feet approached the door and Draco knew the time had come. With much more bravado than he truly felt, he burst through, shouting, "Expelliarmus!"

There stood Dumbledore, as he remembered, but Potter was gone. His heart sank along with his wand.

"Good evening, Draco."

He turned to eye the old man warily. There were two brooms, just as he remembered, but he said nothing. All the fight had drained from him faster than the colour from his face. With a dead voice Draco recalled his lines. "There are Death Eaters ... here...in your school...tonight," he whispered.

"Well, well, very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?"

Without thought, Draco backed up to the door, closing it and leaning against it for support. Dumbledore's eyes widened for a second, glancing to Draco's side before speaking again. "Was there something you came to do, Draco?"

"We both know I've come to kill you," he whispered, his wand drooping further until it nearly pointed completely down. His eyes fell to where he'd seen Pansy rocking after killing the Headmaster. Her glazed expression swam before him again, her tears coursing down her cheeks, glistening in the sickly green light of the Mark in the sky. Curiously he looked up and found it, just as before, sneering down upon them all. "There's no fighting fate, is there...sir?"

"Draco...Draco, you are not a killer."

Tension shook his entire body as he fought what he knew had to be done. His wand rose, shakily, his cold grey eyes lifting to stare the old man down. "You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know what I've done!"

"Oh, yes I do -"

"No! You've no idea what I've gone through, only to wind up back here! A failure - that's all I've ever been and I will die as such!" Sounds of the battle made their way up the staircase, muffled by the closed door, but Draco heard them all the same. Dumbledore, it seemed, did not, for he did not remark.

Draco's wand tipped again, slightly, but still aimed towards the other man. Idly he wondered why Potter remained silent, did not defend his mentor. Thinking of Harry Potter conjured up a different life, one in which Harry Potter stood beside him at Madam Malkin's shop and didn't find Draco to be a prejudiced arsehole unworthy of knowing. His entire life moved down a different path in the following seconds - befriending the Boy Who Lived, having real friends, helping to bring down the Dark Lord eventually. He imagined his parents disowning him, but eventually coming around, reuniting as a happy family. He imagined Hermione, smiling at him, accepting him and being worthy. Most of all, being worthy of love.

"I see," said Dumbledore kindly.

Draco's trance broke, returning him to the present. He was surprised, but not ashamed, to find he was crying. "Why didn't you stop me, then," he barked, choking on a sob. "Why didn't you help me?"

"I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch -"

"He hasn't been, least of all for you, you daft fool," Draco bellowed, wiping at his nose. "None of you see what's before your eyes! Damn, trusting saps!"

"It so happens that I trust Professor Snape -"

"He's working for him," he yelled, exposing the Dark Mark on his left arm. Dumbledore only sighed in response, sinking further. Draco turned away, letting the sleeve slip down again. "Why didn't you help me, if you knew all of this?"

"Professor Snape gave you the potion, did he not?"

It was as though he had been hit by a Bludger. Hermione was right all along. With renewed hatred, Draco charged Dumbledore, forcing him back against the ramparts. "You did this to me! You cursed me, ruined my life!"

"Expiare Tempus Eversio," he sighed, shaking his head. "I tried to help you, Draco. I knew the task set before you by Lord Voldemort. Severus gave you the potion on my orders so that you could undo everything."

"It didn't work - I failed! The potion's gone and here we are, back where we were. And I have to kill you," he ended quietly.

"There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

Draco laughed bitterly, stepping away. He offered Dumbledore a wry grin, "I have no options, old man. I've played both sides of the game, his and yours." He nodded towards the green light in the sky. "I can't win, no matter how hard I try. Every time I tried to correct my mistake," he imitated Snape, "things were worse. I lost my parents, my friends. I got Snape killed, you, nearly myself every time. Those I loved. Even tried helping the Order and nothing worked!"

He threw up his arms in frustration, pacing, ignoring Dumbledore as he slowly slid further down, dying before his eyes. "No matter what I attempted, none of it worked as it should have, because I didn't know what to fix." He turned back to face his enemy, wishing with all his heart that he could call him friend instead. "There's no other way."

"...I can help you, Draco," he gasped.

"No, you can't," he laughed again. "Nobody can."

"Come over to the right side, Draco. This, now - this is when you can correct everything."

A glimmer of hope shone from Dumbledore's fading eyes. At last everything fit into place. The journey was at an end, all the cards lay spread before him. Dumbledore was right - this was the moment. But his inner turmoil offered still two paths from which to choose. Was it his mistake to have not accepted the proffered help from a dying man, or was he meant to, at last, finish his mission?

Time slowed down, he could feel it tick past as he deliberated. A thousand memories replayed in his mind, a thousand consequences for each. All paths led him back to this moment in time. His wand quavered. He knew the Death Eaters were mere seconds away from barging through that door. The decision had to be made, now. It came down to uttering one word or two. Another tear slid down his face.

He swallowed thickly, opening his mouth to speak...  


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the artwork of Elysium entitled, Time Slows Down.


End file.
